Octopath Chronicles
by aimsknight06
Summary: Whether guided by light or wreathed in darkness, the paths we make forge onward, having let go of the hands of god. We will write our own stories and fight our own demons alongside the allies we make on our journeys. Trigger warnings: Rape, suicide, gore, etc.
1. Chapter 1: Dark Rose

"_**GALDERA!"**_

_**Aelfric, bearing his brilliant lanthorn, calls out to the accursed god. Flames rife with the stench of flesh, searing the souls of wailing humans, run across the land like wild stallions. As the world burned under their feet, the twelve gods faced the thirteenth, who hissed with contempt.**_

"_**Why?! Why must we give this world to these measly humans?!"**_

"_**It is not thine to keep, Galdera. Orsterra is not a plaything any longer. The inhabitants, they have minds, hearts...," Aelfric slams down his lanthorn staff, making tremors, "The humans can walk their own paths...!"**_

"_**Fools!" The dark god of bloody souls brandishes his sword, making a ripple of wails from the poor souls below, "They are helpless ants that must be ruled with an iron fist from above! And it seems I am the only one capable of seeing it so!"**_

"_**Because thou art wrong, Galdera!" Dohter snarls, "We decided this! WE said we would create the world, and leave it to those who forge their ways!"**_

"_**I deny it! We have seen their behaviors... I will devour all of thee if I must to rule them!" The god's eyes gleam a malicious magenta, "There need only be one god for these hapless creatures!"**_

_**Like a wave of blood and darkness, Galdera swells in size and bears down on his peers. Alephan, king of scholars, reads a quick enchantment from memory, and parts the deluge. It splashes like acid, corroding the souls of men who drowned in its murk, rising them as horrific eldritch counterparts of themselves. The land cried in pain as the waves extinguished the flames and the corrupted blood leached upon nature.**_

"_**Ha, pitiful Galdera... Thou hast lost thine mind!" Aeber sends his burst of flame at the darkness, momentarily dispelling it.**_

"_**Laugh all thou willst, Prince of Fools. Thine flame is but fuel for my wrath!" To prove his point, the monstrous deity swallows the flame and shoots it back out, its power tenfold.**_

_**Balogar, with his rune of fire, counters. The two energies collide, and the Prince suffers some burns for his insolence. **_

"_**Ah-ow, OW!" Aeber yelps as Balogar rolls his eyes under his mask.**_

"_**Aelfric. What will we do..." Steorra murmurs as her heavenly protection rises for the twelve, "Gods... cannot kill another god..."**_

_**Aelfric does not answer immediately. Between where his feet stand is where Odin Crossford and his assistant sorcerers are readying the seal of his sacred flame.**_

"_**It is true, we cannot vanquish you, Galdera. There are sacred rules binding our actions against each other..." Aelfric mutters the next part, "But unfortunately someone hath not the foresight to outlaw stealing powers."**_

"_**All of thou art weak! Too weak to take what is rightfully yours as a GOD!" Galdera spits vehemently at the other gods, hissing.**_

"_**Dost thou not see what destruction we wrought as gods. Nay, ruleth we ought not, for destroy it we shall ultimately. And as we hath all our love poured in it to this blood and soil, we will not stand down to thee!"**_

"_**Then DIE!"**_

_**The colossus of darkness crashes down like a tidal wave. The lanthorn shines bright and a shield of light rises to ward off the incoming abyssal force. The two opposites clash, with a magenta flame pushing against the clear orange-white inferno.**_

"_**Now, my brethren!"**_

_**The sorcerers underfoot bellow a cry in an arcane language. From their mouths, the singing of their very souls can be heard, the notes rising with Aelfric's holy light. Slowly, surely, the light brightens and pushes back on the darkness, edging it back little by little.**_

"_**No-NO!" Galdera screams in alarm as his might is repelled, "THIS CANNOT BE!"**_

"_**We cannot vanquish thee now... but it can be so that thou can never again harm another. To that end, thou shalt not only fail by our hands, but by these humans which thou despises..."**_

"_**AAARGH! AELFRIC!" Galdera spits and roars in futility as the light envelops him.**_

"_**BANISHGA!"**_

_**There is a single loud roar of a beast that rings throughout the land as a shaft of light rains down and destroys a portion of the earth in concentration. The dark god is pummeled and consumed as the light pushes him down, shattering the breaches of the Underworld. Mortals quake in fear at the earthquakes and subsequent tremors. They murmur prayers in a low tone that accumulates to a single hymn as it reaches the ears of divinity. When the song fades and the light wanes, there is but a vast crack; a scar upon the earth. It gapes like an open wound and seems to stretch below forever, into darkness never-ending. Belches of miasma issue forth, remnants of the accursed flame as the last of Galdera's power is wiped away from the face of Orsterra.**_

"_**It is done..." Aelfric looks moodily outward towards the ruined land, "But at what cost..."**_

_**Below, the humans reel still from the mass destruction that had just ravaged the land. Their homes and families have been torn asunder. Yet, Odin and his sorcerers step forward as a calm after the storm. As the sun refuses to rise, Aelfric casts his flame upon the corners of the continent, lighting the world with warmth.**_

"_**I make my promise to thee, humans," Aelfric speaks through the sorcerer, "Take my lanthorn, and rekindle its flames every two decades, so that the darkness of Galdera dare approacheth no more. It must be relit at the locations of Flamesgrace, where hearts burn with shining faith; Goldshore, where waters run pure, and Saintsbridge, where lives connect. The god is yet to be no more, and so ye must keep thine vigil against the throes of evil."**_

"_**Must we suffer forever with this fear?" The people bemoaned the task placed upon them.**_

_**Aelfric said nothing more. He knew what even his fellow gods could not fathom. This is all but a stall, a buffer in time. Galdera's forces remained in this world still. They have been beaten down, but they have not been vanquished. In their dark hearts reigned yet the hope of freeing their foul master. **_

_**His demigoddess daughter, Lyblac, is still at large. No doubt she is already seething at her loss and plotting her next move to release her father. Soon, even his lanthorn would be extinguished by her machinations. Orsterra would once again be plunged into dark webs of deceit and destruction as the worst of humans take control upon the innocent. Men will question their boundaries and attempt to be masters of life and death, unknowing of their greed feeding the evil which fuels Galdera's endless hunger.**_

_**But there is yet hope, for Aelfric knew the power of humans and their bonds and connections, which forged paths in ways to places the gods knew nothing of. It is his hope, that when Galdera returns, heroes will rise among men, and put an end to the god once and for all.**_

_**The day the dark god was sealed, Odin and his sorcerers constructed the Gate of Finis to block off the seepage of Galdera's corruptive powers into the land. People gossip about the world which lies beyond it. The Underworld, the afterworld, a plan of pure darkness able to contain a god... Its conception is from the eternal shadow which contrasts the ever-burning light of the lanthorn, which the humans received from the gods. Heedful of Aelfric's words, the people establish the Kindling ceremony, which is still held today, 1,600 years later.**_

_**Aelfric's intuition proves too correct, as the gears of fate have spun slowly, but surely, from that day forth. As a mysterious, ageless individual wanders the land, misfortunes, quietly creeping, grow into catastrophes. Men were unwilling to relinquish their desires for power, glory, and wealth. Such wants seeded and cemented the influence of darkness, even as it lay in waiting slumber.**_

_**Darker still, the bindings of life and death come to be undone as small happenings, unnoticed, trickle like grains of sand, amassing into mounds. A royal family squabble, a missing priest, the rise of a legendary monster... these little events weave together into the backdrop of a horrifying path to a world devastated once more. Innocents will know what true fear is. **_

* * *

"The mortals… They can ultimately be such boring creatures. Confined to short life spans, their visions are so … pitifully small," The demigoddess' eyes trail from the window, "I saw the rise and fall of the conquerors by the Ring. Great clods of dirt they were. And for a while, I began to lose hope... But, every once in a while… I do find a gem or two within the endless drivel that is humanity and its triteness. It is not the crown jewel that I seek… Yet it has potential nonetheless."

The dark-haired woman with maroon eyes looks to me. I can feel my excitement resonate with her words, and the promises they hold. How I have not felt that since the death of my father caused that little quarrel for the dynasty crown. It is the exact same exhilaration I felt as I held my blade, poised before my older half-brother's throat, as he had lain on the floor, begging and defenseless. That was a wonderful climax one is hard-pressed to find, built so illustriously that its conclusion itself is a tragedy.

"You are one of them. I see it in your eyes. A hunger for something more," She pushes up to me, her clawed hands caressing my face, "That show at Everhold… have you not wanted to experience that sort of thrill again? That amusement of the acts of humanity and its follies…"

"… It was a very … amusing thing indeed," I find myself chuckling, "Always do I wish to return to it. But now, the dynasty and its doldrums shall be the price I pay for that moment, I suppose. Such a steep ticket price."

"It does not have to be. Abandon it, and I shall give you an eternity. Like with mine, you can do as you wish. As per your heart's desires, you can manipulate the fools of men of this world, and bend them to your whim. Much like a puppet master commandeers a play to their satisfaction," Her hand moves down to my shoulders after grazing my neck with a delicate touch, "Does that not sound most enjoyable?"

"… Yes. I would… very much enjoy that I think," Gods, I can feel the arousal in myself thinking of the possibilities she offers.

"You could be like a god, playing with lives. Imagine it, your own tragicomedy, made for your pleasure," Her eyes flicker with a slight luminescent redness, "All you need do… is pledge your allegiance to me and my cause."

"…So I shall be your puppet whilst I build my own show," Even as I say that I do not feel used, unlike when my mother had bid me fight in her name, out of selfishness for her dignity as the "true queen." She had offered me nothing, as she intended to play me like a dowager behind the scenes if I won the throne.

"It will not be as boring as the trivial human plays if you wish to see it so," She chuckles, "I am not a cruel mistress. I know what you want. And I will give it to you. T' would stand to reason I am rather entering a contract with you, rather than dominating your will."

I want to do that. I want to control my own destiny … as well that of others. I will create a magnificent play, with countless deceitful turns and suspenseful grips that it will be its own epic. Such are the tales I wish for, and it will require lifetimes to accomplish. And this offer of immortality before me, along with the promise of escape from my mundane, arduous life…

"I do pledge myself to you."

She smiles in a sinister way, behind a veneer of kindness. I believe that I saw myself making a similar face mirrored in her eyes, along with all the possibilities whirling in my scheming mind, waiting to be bought to the grand world stage.

* * *

"_Tis only when men seek for the hills,_  
_that they turn back and see what rot they hath left;_  
_that they see the beauties they abandoned to die in eternal sleep._  
_Would that I could have stopped that withering,_  
_given it a proper cull,_  
_to find that which was most beautiful of all."_

"_... _And that is 'The Rose Garden.' It's not quite finished yet, I'd say."

Simeon closes his book and looks down at the thirteen-year-old girl. She stares at him with admiration and curiosity typical of children her age. Particularly those with a crush.

"That was amazing, Simeon..." She smiles shyly.

"Really? I thought I was playing a bit too much into the trite forms of writing. There must be five or so tropes in a single stanza..."

"No, it's perfect. The flow and all… I could dance to it!" She gushes a bit.

"That's wonderful. I'm glad you like it, Prim," The young man stands and puts down the volume, moving to walk out of the sunlit room, "I was thinking of you a little when I wrote it, I'll admit."

"R-really?" She nearly squeaks out of joy hearing that.

"Yes, your name, after all, Rose. Why do you think I call you that?" Simeon turns and smiles at the little lady, "Because you will blossom into a lovely flower, like a rose."

Her face is positively on fire with his flattery. Thrown off completely, she can only manage to mutter her question timidly, "...W-will you read me some more next time? Maybe something from _Alexandrian Fantasy_ next time?"

Simeon smiles a bit too formulaic a grin and resumes his departure, "Perhaps, my flower. I have some blossoms to trim."

* * *

"_My dear little flower..."_

Geoffrey rubs the girl's head affectionately. Her soft, brown curls had suppleness that felt like clouds under his big, calloused hands. His daughter giggles slightly at the gesture of appreciation for her little dance routine. It was just the two of them beside the crackling fire in the parlor, under the watchful eyes of her mother's portrait overhead. Soon, it would be time to sleep.

"Come, Prim. To bed now."

"One more dance, m'lord?" The precocious child of 13 curtsies with a slight giggle.

"Now, now, m'lady..." The old man chides, a small smile crinkling his mustache, "A dancer must still have her sleep."

"Such a prude lord!"

The child just giggles a bit as her father hoists her up in his arms.

"My lady must sleep, to develop herself in dancing."

"I suppose so... Good night, mother." The child waves slightly to the silent portrait.

"You will be dancing again tomorrow night for the two of us, I hope?"

"Of course! M'lord and mother are my two best audiences!" She sighs slightly, "The other noble children... say it's unbecoming of a noblewoman to dance like I do..."

"Well, on your shoulders is the future of the entire house of Azelhart. No matter what they believe. If you have faith, nothing they say can hurt you, my love."

"Because faith will be my shield, right?"

"Yes," He lovingly nuzzles her forehead with his shaven face, "Even when the blade is held at your heart, faith shall be your shield. As our family founders said."

"Mm..." The child glances at the fire still flickering, "Ah, are you still going to stay up tonight, father? I was hoping you could read me a story before I slept..."

"I will, my Prim. Arianna shall put out the fire soon anyways."

"Yay! There was a story, er, poem Simeon read to me just yesterday. I truly adored that one...!"

"Well, you do have quite the attachment for him and his writings, my dear..."

"Art thou jealous, m'lord?"

"Not at all! For who teaches you the sword in this house? And your lessons?"

"Heehee," She giggles and snuggles on his chest a bit, "I think I'm getting better with the house dagger, father."

"That is good to hear… But you still have much to practice, on that."

There is a slight sternness in his voice. It never fails to dampen her spirits a bit, when he turned strict. But she knows it as an expression of his love, so she does not show it.

"Of course, father… I think I am slowly figuring out… what the steps are that I am getting wrong."

"That is good on your part, learning from your mistakes, flower."

They leave the parlor, bantering and chuckling some more, and enter the carpeted halls. The sound of incessant rain hitting the glass windows is suddenly interrupted by one big boom of clapping thunder. There is a sound of smashed glass, almost hidden by the sonorous sound before it. But Geoffrey had perceived it. It came from the room next to the parlor, nearer the front of the house. There is the tinkling sound of falling glass shards, and nigh imperceptible swift feet on the wooden floor in the guest study.

Without a second thought, Geoffrey races up the stairs to his study. The steps behind him caught on and follow close behind. He throws the door open and slams it shut within the same second, locking it and propping up a chair against the knob. The steps outside come closer.

He can barely hear his own rushed thoughts over the sound of his pounding heart in his ear. Another thunderous peal sounds, and his daughter makes a noise, like the squeak of a frightened mouse. He is aware again of how hard he is clutching her small body to himself.

"F-father...?"

The child looks up with frightened, uncomprehending eyes, into his own filled with fear. He knew then, what had to be done.

"Father... what is..."

"Shh, shh... Primrose..." He hurries to place her behind one of the obstructive desks, where a secret cabinet opens, large enough to fit a child, "I need you to be quiet..."

"W-why? What..." Her voice shows clear fear, unknowing what was transpiring.

The steps run about the floor outside. They are stealthy still, and nearly blend with the pitter-patter of rain beating on the study windows. A flash of lightning reveals the somber, solemn face of Geoffrey to his daughter. He cups her face in his hands.

"You must be quiet, Prim. Do not let them find you. Hide, and do not make a sound, understand?"

"Father, w-what about you...?" Her hands go to cling to his shirt.

"I will face them, my Prim. I have to."

"No..." She dares not cry out, for fear of the incoming threat.

"Be strong, Primrose," He gives her a tight and brief hug, "Remember, faith shall be your shield."

The handle on the door jiggles. There is a bang as something impacts it. The child flinches in his arms. She clings, unwilling to relinquish that protective embrace. She cannot make a sound, for fear she will burst into cries and doom them both.

Geoffrey moves to enclose her in the cabinet, despite her clinging to him. He gives her a final, kind smile, kissing her forehead gently. Her eyes widen and her bottom lip trembles. Suppressing every fiber of her being, she lets go of his sleeve.

"Father, I love you..."

"I love you, Prim."

He makes a gesture of quiet, pressing a finger to his lips, before he closes the cabinet door in finality.

There is another strike at the entryway. A blade bursts through the wood. From outside, an eye peers in, surveying the room. They see only the man before his desk, standing like a solid statue, facing them with expectation. With a grunt, the door is forced down, torn off its hinges.

The three figures walk in, cockily almost. They are dressed in dark clothing that is actually quite fine in make. Their heads are obscured with drawn hoods that cover most of their distinguishable face. Two of them have one arm exposed, revealing a tattoo in the shape of a crow. The last one has his shirt collar drawn down to show off a similar tattoo, but on his neck. They approach Geoffrey, who grasps at a decorative long sword lying on his table.

"Your time is up, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey narrows his eyes at the voice. "You..."

"Don't take this the wrong way. You've just been sniffing around too much."

"Be glad. We were originally going to take your daughter to make you shut up. But I guess lucky for you, she's out of town, hm?"

They didn't know Prim was here. There is relief Geoffrey felt, but he did not let it show on his face.

"Your business is with me, isn't it?" He readies his blade.

"Yes," There is a wicked grin under the hood, "And frankly, I prefer it this way."

The one with his right arm exposed jumps forward, a wicked knife in hand. Geoffrey swipes at his footing, ducking the arc of the blade. The intruder with the left arm exposed attacks Geoffrey from behind, kicking at the man's legs and sending him careening to the floor.

Gathering some semblance of his old youth, Geoffrey surprises them both with a lash of shadow energy. Dark attribute magic writhes like flames from his hand as he stands and makes another jab with his blade, aimed at the one who fights with his hands, the left crow.

"Tsk!"

His shadow magic hits, but suddenly he feels a shroud come over his vision. He can hear the left wing of the crow hit the floor but cannot see it. Before he can react, he barely dodges a slash to the head from the one with a dagger. The blade gouged slightly into his left eye, now bleeding. But the shrouding blindness is gone for the moment. Yet, he was now exposed with a greater blind spot.

"G-ah…"

"Lights out, Geoffrey…"

"Not …yet…!" He gives a slight snarl as he parries and counters another stab, landing his elbow with a slight crack in the right crow's chest. The man grunts and darts back a few steps. It doesn't take long for him to recover, as he dashes at Geoffrey again.

The one with the marked neck stays back still, mainly watching, it seems. Geoffrey glimpses a slight movement of the lips. If he was a magic user, that would spell trouble. Best take him out first then.

Briskly, he darts past the one with a dagger in a sidestep. He stabs again with his magic, this time straight at the one with the crow on the neck.

The face under the hood smiles at the challenge. With a smooth, upward motion, his hand coats in similar dark magic and slaps the blade away, right out of Geoffrey's hand. Geoffrey can only gape for a second before he feels the tip of a knife enter him from behind, protruding out through the front of his abdomen. The spurt of crimson dribbles down his shirt and blood rises to his lips. When he coughs, some of his blood flecks the exposed neck of the one before him.

"Ugh..."

He grasps at the blade, cutting his hands. He can feel the hilt behind him. The weapon is cruelly wrenched out from behind, send shocks up his body. But his jaw remains as though wired shut. He can't make any noises of weakness, not with Prim overhearing...

Clutching at the grievous wounds, he staggers before dropping to his knees. His breath comes out in ragged pants as he sees the three close in from all sides. There is no escape.

"Funny how it works, isn't it?" The left crow sneers, "Everything that happens in this world falls into one of two neat little categories. Things one's better off knowing, and things one's better off … not."

Geoffrey doesn't look back at that smug grin. He keeps his eyes low and focuses on slowing and calming his breathing as his blood flowed out of him.

"Geoffrey Azelhart, I'm afraid you've been poking into the latter."

"...I have... only done as my convictions bade me do... I have... no regrets..." He rasps as he feels his own blood stain his hands with sickly warmth. What a lie he just told. He was going to die with the biggest regret ever...

"Hehehe... I thought you might say something like that..." The right crow chuckles, fingering a thin black mustache on his upper lip, "You're making this delightfully easy, not even begging for your life."

He looks slightly to the silent one as a signal. The one with the marked neck steps forward wordlessly. Was that a frown Geoffrey saw on that face as he looked up for the last time?

He saw the flash of the blade; dark, purple light. He felt it cut through him with wickedness, a sharpness no ordinary blade could bear. He saw his own red blood fly in flecks before the candlelight in the room. He felt his heavy body go limp, tipping over to fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Then, he felt no more than his last breath hiss as it issued forth from his lips. His vision, fuzzy and hazy, begins to fall flat and dark, as it all fades into one spot. All he saw at that moment … was a little girl dancing before the fireplace.

_Father...!_

"_... _P... ve... yo..u..."

Those last broken words hissed out with his last. And then he was no more.

As the neck crow steps back and sheathes his blade, the right crow speaks again, "Make sure he's dead – and let's leave this place before we're seen."

"Right, right..." The left crow walks over to the bloody body on the stained carpet and kneels. He checks for the usual breathing and pulse. Finding none, he looks up and nods to his companions.

"... It's done."

The two with the tattooed arms look to the silent one, who remains quiet. He merely turns for the door. The three walk out of the study, back the way they had come. Only the tapping of rain keeps silence from the study.

Behind the desk, the young Primrose Azelhart crouches, not even daring to breathe. Huddled into a small ball, she presses her trembling body against the crook of the desk so as to make herself as small as possible. It feels like an eternity before she had to take a breath lest she lose consciousness.

She had seen it all.

Amid the sounds of fighting, she had opened the door of the cabinet and snuck out unnoticed. From the corner of the desk, she had seen them gang up on her father. He had fought so valiantly, and she had believed so desperately he had a chance. Inwardly, she had cheered as he seemed to surprise them with some smooth moves.

How cruel it was, to watch that chance be snuffed out like a weak flame by a cold gale. How she had nearly screamed for her father to get back up as they jeered at his weakened state. She nearly had cried when she saw the blade cut him, snapping his life in two before her eyes. How she wished, and still wishes, that he would rise from where he lay now.

Her breathing rattled, she slowly stands, clutching her hands to her chest. Her legs are heavy. As she walks, they drag. She wills herself to walk up to that body on the carpet before the desk. The carpet is stained around him, as are his fine linen clothes. The stain grows still, slowly, creeping towards her feet.

There is a clap of thunder, but she can no longer hear it. Nor can she perceive herself in this room or in this world anymore. All she can see is herself and that body who was her father, laying there. His strong arms that once protected her now lay cold and lifelessly limp. That kind face that he had smiled with and kissed her with countless times would never do so again.

A flash of lightning makes that face look all the more horrifying and heart wrenching to look at, as the damaged left eye looks like a crack into a hollow abyss of darkness. The blood staining his face, crusted about his mouth and nose, makes him look demonic in his last moments. His right eye, open still, with a glassy look, is trained on her, or so she felt.

"... father..."

She takes only a few more steps after that bare whisper. Her legs give away in strength and she falls to her knees just before him. Trembling, she reaches a hand to his right eye to close it. Sobs, restrained despite their enormity in her small body, wrack her insides and she struggles to breathe through them.

"Father... father..."

His skin is still warm. If she blots out the blood, he would just look asleep! But reality lay before her in a cold and dead form, in such a crushing way that no fantasy can cure it.

"A...ahh..."

She curls on the floor, a hand grasping at her father's. His hand has yet a trace of warmth that is yet to cool. The grief and the sorrow build up in her, but she will not let them out in the torrential scream and fit they desire. She would choke on them first. In her silent cries are just the mutters for her father and the occasional hiccup as stinging tears start to roll, then cascade down her cheeks.

Her hand grasps hard on his, which could reciprocate no longer. He was gone. Forever. Why? Who did this? Who were those men?

All these questions with no answers swirl in her mind. Then two answers surfaced amid the tears and bitterness.

The image of the crows on their bodies burned itself into her mind. One on the left, one on the right, and one at the neck...

Her bitter tears and sorrow slowly give way to a grimace on her face, which soon twists into that of a near scowl. A savage image, that of a grim and angered face, graces her features with a drastic change from the tear-streaked expression she held mere moments ago. Now, she felt a white-hot fury build within and threaten to consume her.

Hate! Hate the ones who took him away! Hate them...

A cold fist came and closed around the hatred burning in her heart. A hand goes to clutch at the family blade hidden in its sheath at her side. At that moment, the final answer was forged into a worthy blade which she would carry at her breast for as long as she lived.

_Revenge._

Slowly, the child righted herself from her prostrated position of helplessness. She sits up and wipes her tears, the scowl refining itself on her face into a look of grim determination. On her father's cold corpse, she vows this feeling of humiliation on the Azelhart family will never be forgotten.

Darkness dances around her in infant wisps, lingering on the senses. When they feel her resolve, they materialize in form and darken until an ethereal robe fit for the queen of darkness drapes over her little body, and her eyes glow a bright scarlet.

_They took everything from me... and I will never forget._

The child was no more after that night. She was a woman. A woman with a goal to murder those who had taken everything from her.

...

...That was 10 years ago. And I have always remembered it.

I open my eyes with a slight start before my head fully droops from its position. The same dimly lit room, with musty air and worn carpeting, are all I see. I'm still here. The three girls are practicing their routine still, dancing before the candlelight. Their shadows move in hypnotizing patterns about the floor. I must have fallen asleep watching.

"Ah... always the same dream..." I stand from where I had been sitting, feeling a bit stiff. Perhaps it was that grog the customer had me drink last night. He was so damn forceful too.

Lily, the one with short honey-colored hair, seems to notice my awakening first. At her movement, the other two look to me as well, pausing in practice. Their faces are with contempt, as always. They stopped hiding it a long time ago.

"I wish I had your confidence, Primrose," Yvette, the brunette with a ponytail, drawls with insincerity, "I couldn't imagine nodding off minutes before my cue."

"How nice it must be to be the master's favorite!" Lily giggles haughtily and the other two nod in agreement. From the side, they seem to sneer as if their words could elicit some effect.

I don't even look at them and hold my tongue. Instead, I feel my stinging hips a bit, a memento from the rough play last night. The dull stab of that painful memory and dream do not make it any easier to keep calm.

Lily huffs slightly at my lack of reaction, "Fine, go on and keep your airs. Act as though you're better than the rest of us."

"It doesn't change the fact that you're just another dancer in the sands, Primrose," Yvette adds, "Nothing but a kept woman, here to flatter the dignity of men who pay for the privilege."

I think back to last night. He was a high-roller, and he liked how I had moved on stage. After the show, he'd called for me in his room at the tavern. I whispered those typical sweet words into his ears, and he was mine to control. He wasn't the worst part. It was Helgenish, that pig, that came after. Every night since I can remember being in his employ, I have shown up to his chambers no matter how long the day seemed. But I didn't complain. I've never complained.

I put a hand to my hips and sigh in resignation, "...I suppose you're right."

There is a brief bout of silence. The girls didn't like it, not getting a rise out of me. Yusufa, quiet Yusufa, stands still by the wall. She looks on the verge of saying things a lot, yet never quite does.

"Shh!" Maria, the last of the trio, exclaims in a low voice, "Enough chatter! Master Helgenish is coming!"

Sure enough, there is the tapping of well-scuffed shoes, heavily worn. We all assemble in a line before the entryway so he can see us all present. Angry muttering can be heard as a click is heard at the door. The door opens, and the squat, pot-bellied man that is master Helgenish steps in. His fine suit is always ill-suited for his heavyset self, and his ruddy nose indicates he's been drinking. That portends a foul mood.

"Do I keep you women here to chitter in the shadows?! My customers are waiting for their entertainment!" He scowls and walks up to us, pointing to the door and barking, "The opening act should be on that stage already! Now get out there and earn your keep!"

Yusufa and the other three start to file out. I am the main act. Before passing through the door, Yusufa pauses ever so slightly, glancing over at me. I cannot fully discern what that look was. Likely, it was worry. It seems that is often enough the case. I sometimes find myself wondering if she can smile with those oddly beautiful eyes of hers, a color that seems to be a perfect mix of brown and blue… But, how can any of us truly smile here? She leaves with the rest, and I am alone with Helgenish.

"What a bunch of useless strays…" The master huffs, his hands on his pudgy waistline. Then he turns to me, and his demeanor becomes sickeningly sweet. With some cocky stride, he comes over before me, voice low and attempting to be seductive, "But not you, Primrose… you're the only one I can rely on…"

I lower my gaze slightly to appear ingratiated by his slovenly attitude, "You flatter me… Master."

"Oh, hardly!" He grins with glee at my words, like a sycophantic puppy eager for praise, "Why, this tavern's custom has increased tenfold since you stepped onto my stage!"

"But…" His voice takes a firmer tone, "Do not go forgetting yourself. For it was I who groomed you for this role."

"…And for that, I will be forever grateful, Master…"

"Such an ignorant girl you were when I had taken you in! Useless!" He rants on, "I've taught you everything you know."

I do not respond. It has been 10 years. 10 years I've played your fool. I only pretended under you, you vile swine-

There is a sharp pain on my face, forcing me to stumble back slightly and return from my thoughts. I feel a stinging sensation remain and linger on my cheek. He'd slapped me.

"What happened… to your sweet little smile?" He growls slightly in his low tone, "Who puts a roof over your head, and food on your plate? Who adorns your body with the pretty fabrics and jewels you wear, making you the most desired woman in this dusty old town?! It. Was. Me. All me."

He says the last part slowly, haltingly, as he slowly creeps up to me, while I still stand facing away, having stumbled back.

"You _owe_ me, kitten. And I'll see that debt repaid."

My hands still want to clench when he calls me by that pet name. All of us who belong to him are his stray cats, but he only calls me kitten. Swallowing that sickened feeling down, I look back to face him with a small smile.

"Yes… master."

"Good then," He chuckles lowly, eyes hungering, "Purr sweetly and I may give you a treat."

Like a stalking predator, he steps around me slowly, skulking behind me and lowering his head so his stinking breath can be felt at my neck, and his mustache near my face. His satin gloves gingerly touch my shoulder and arm and caress it, running along the length.

"Do not dally when you are done with the show… I shall be waiting in my chamber," He speaks in a low, sultry voice as his hand moves from my arm to my breast, and his other hand runs like a comb through my hair, "I'll have your purr for me some more…"

I have long suppressed my shudders from his contact. The revulsion remains … but it has become so commonplace now. I recall the first time I had displeased him by recoiling from that touch. He had beaten me with the heel of his boot. I know he remains someone of dangerous strength despite his appearance.

The stagehand, Wilk, from the tavern comes through the door, "Primrose. You're up."

"… I'm coming."

I pull away from Helgenish, and he lets me go, probably smiling as I walk.

"Oh, kitten?" He quietly calls out to me, "Put your face back on."

I pause to say "…Yes, master."

As I follow the stagehand to the tavern, I quickly reapply makeup to the bit that smudged where Helgenish had struck me. After all this time, I just carry my cosmetics with me, secured to a strap hidden under the waistband of my dress, alongside my one prized possession: the Azelhart dagger.

"The customers have been waiting," Wilk says as we enter the tavern, "And you're our only hope of getting to eat tonight."

The place is rife with the smell of smoke and alcohol. Traveling merchants, dressed in rich silks, turbans, suits, and all kinds of riches lounge about, frolicking with the dancers who were on customs duty tonight. They order around the wenches cruelly as they drown themselves in their women and alcohol. Helgenish never skimps for them. But on nights where the tips are a bit less, the staff go hungry.

I manage a half-hearted chuckle as we enter the backstage area, "How was the opening act?"

Wilk gives a slight eye roll before answering with a tell-tale sigh, "…Like I said. It's your turn now."

This is a rather common occurrence. I hate to let them down, even the ones who spite me. We are all rather helpless here. I go to step onstage.

"…Let the show begin.

There are cheers, whistles, and even the occasional drunk jeer from the crowd. Many show their familiarity with me by hollering their lecherous comments.

"It's her!"

"Yeeeaaaah, Primrooose!"

"Show us your boobs!"

All these people, drunk with the power they lord over others, have the same hungry look as that of Helgenish. This ilk of humanity, which sees us as objects and property…

I start with a couple of taps first with my feet, smiling quietly to the crowd. They fall silent for a spell as I begin, and then start drowning out the music with their raucous cheers and requests. I can only blot their faces out, as I had learned to do for a long time.

Dear father… please watch over me. I stopped believing anything like a higher power would ever save me, or any poor soul. But I believe... that you are there, at the very least.

For 10 years, I have pursued my quest for revenge against the men who took you from me. It has led me here, where I heard that one with the mark of the crow is an occasional visitor. As I glance over the crowd, not one has that mark which I seek. Yet, I keep dancing, moving my body with the wills and sways of the music… like when I used to dance for my father…

When I finish my last step, there are drunken men standing waving their arms like unseemly simians, giving whoops and whistles while declaring their love and asking for private shows.

I bow and smile with a small wave, "You are all too kind. And handsome, might I add."

As a flourish, I wink and blow a small kiss to the wanting crowd as they shout lewd requests. It lights their fire more and they respond with furor. Such animals.

I turn and go backstage, where Wilk stands. He gives me a weak, congratulatory smile.

"Not bad, Prim. Not bad at all."

"Thank you, Wilk…"

"… The master awaits, right?" His tone is knowing and sympathetic. But even he is probably inured.

"… Good night, Wilk."

I walk past him, off the stage, to the master's quarters within the tavern. It should come as no surprise he has the largest room in the establishment, all the more to stoke his ego. I have been in there many times now. There are indulgent velvets and silken pillows, sheets, and a plump, feather mattress despite the heat of Sunshade. However, beneath the sheets and hidden in the drawers, displayed on the walls even, are whips and wicked knives. I have heard of his secret cache of "souvenirs," though I have never seen it. Supposedly, it is full of disgusting mementos like locks of hair and jewelry from past dancers he fondly remembers… and disposed of.

Priscilla was a nice girl from Atlasdam; very witty and clumsy. She had a nice, pointed face with high arched cheeks and light brown hair. Helgenish liked her looks, despite her atrocious dancing skills. But while serving, she'd spilled wine on a customer's cravat. Right in front of the rest of us, she was beaten within an inch of her life whilst nude only about a week or so ago. And then, the hired bouncers threw her out into the street. Everyone in this town seemed to just stare. The master reminds us daily that we are nobodies in this place. Faceless, nameless… just bodies for pleasure. No one gives a damn if we vanished.

I approach the door to his room, with the ornate lacquered wood and brass handles.

"Master? It's … your kitten."

"Come in, Primrose…" His voice, slimy with lust, invites me in.

I open the door and walk in. There is a lingering smell of his cologne about the entire room, like a noxious fog. The fat man lays on his side in bed, facing me, expecting my entry. He is nude, showing his chest of hair. The bottom half of his body has just the thin sheet draped over his groin. When I get near, within three paces of the bed, he stops me with a gesture of his hand.

"Clothes off, dear…"

I comply with that command, slipping off my adornments and dancing garb. My clothes drop to the floor like a cascade of flowing water as I walk to him with a slight strut in my gait, as he likes. He invites me into his bed with a wave of his hand as he licks his lips. I place one knee on the soft bed and then crawl under the arch of his arm. Like a trap, his hold on me closes and presses me against his fleshy body. He is slightly sweaty, with a strong scent of his cologne and natural odorous musk mixed together. The hand around me curls to fondle one of my naked breasts, teasing the nipple.

"You are doing a fine job masking those bruises from last week…"

He had gripped me too hard at that time. It left red rings on my skin that the bangles were too skimpy to hide.

"… yes, master…"

"No personal visits today? Just as well, since you get this extra time with me…" He cups my chin with a hand as he whispers wet words into my ear.

"Yes, master…"

His eyes trail down my chest and lay upon my collarbone. Right on the center of my chest, above my breasts, is the birthmark that catches his gaze. It looks insignificant at first. If one looks closely, however, it looks less like a birthmark and more like a tattoo of sorts, depicting black swirls. It doesn't please Helgenish in the slightest.

"How unsightly that is. I got you a present... To cover it up with something more pleasing..." His hand lifts and reaches something from behind himself.

I hear the tinkling of metal and jewels as he reveals a multi-layered necklace. It is much too gaudy, really. But it seems like a trinket well-suited for dancing. His hand moves to affix the jewelry onto my neck from behind. I feel his breath as he does this, and the heat off his body. His meaty hands eventually do the clasp and flutter back onto my shoulders, leaving that collar of a necklace on me. The jewelry effectively obscures the mark on my chest.

"You are beautiful, my kitten..." He chuckles in satisfaction at his own work, and his hands return to fondling my chest.

"...Thank you... master."

"You know the reason I hit you is just so you know your place... by my side."

"... Yes... master."

I feel like a doll on repeat sometimes, or a puppet, even; only saying what they want me to say, and doing as they ask. I have one thread left through which I control myself.

"Now, my little soldier is a bit lonely for some pleasure."

He shifts off me slightly and lays down on his back beside me, pulling the sheet off himself and exposing his penis and testicles. They are comically very small and hidden due to his pot belly covering a good amount of his hirsute crotch. I can only ever be sure he is somewhat hygienic, given how he often doesn't prefer the dirty work. But then again, he is a filthy swine.

"Be sure to purr for me, kitten."

I resign myself, sighing inwardly so he can't hear. Establishing eye contact with him as I position myself, I take his length within my mouth and start to pleasure him. He gives a low, barely restrained moan as I begin, his entire body quivering. He does this every time.

Every time… for the last 10 years since I've done this. All of this… for my revenge.

I habitually remember it now, the reason why I have subjected myself to this. The reason why I endure such daily. I have to remember it; carve it into my mind so that I can keep going.

Father… you might be appalled at what I am doing now… fallen so far from the proper lady you may have wanted to succeed the Azelhart house…

But losing my dignity and honor like this and casting off my namesake… is nothing compared to the pain I endured that night when those men took you from me forever. Losing you was... saying goodbye to my whole world. If for that and nothing else, I swear I will stop at nothing to avenge you. There is nothing, no abuse too cruel, that I will not endure to that end.

For that, I will lay with these men… and dance until the day comes that I have slain your killers.

So… father… please watch over me.


	2. Chapter 2: Tavern Whispers

The bangle is heavy. It clinks annoyingly, with a clear, distinct sound, even when he tries to hide it under the folds of his thick, layered shawl. The fringes of the ratty thing hide the attached chain. The people here, however, seem far from perceptive. Many are just drunks, gorging on appetite and money, while others are drowning in women and perfumes. They were nothing like the thieves he was accustomed to from Bolderfall. But one never knows. The Fool's Bangle is not a famous piece of attachment, but anything is possible, as the thief has learned.

Therion had only just stopped by the bazaar in Sunshade. That damn butler had thrown him into this whole goose chase without so much as a notion of where to find the damned dragonstone. He'd had the brilliant idea of looking towards the north. As rotten luck would have it, he barely made it past the crags north of the Cliftlands before the beasts of the Woodlands chased him out. The beasts of the forests near S'warkii were something else. Alone, a thief could rob a man blind, but to fight head-on was not of their forte. And a beast was sharper than a man and had none of the reason. The rampaging boars up there are too tough in the head to be felled by a stolen sword and old knife.

After dodging the frogmen of the Riverlands, he came to the desert and ran into the local lizardmen. So here he was, down in the southern Sunlands, taking the long way about, all the while keeping open ears for whispers on these elusive stones. He could have stopped and asked for a hand back at Bolderfall, yes. But what fool of a thief would trust other thieves? Everyone there knows the unspoken rule: "Thick as thieves" is nothing but a lie for the newbies to the profession. One look at that bangle on him would tell the entire underworld of his failure.

Even if the other thieves were useless and untrustworthy, they were so very kind enough to have mentioned here and there the trick merchants use to navigate the unforgiving desert. One, keep your head covered. Therion used his scarf. Two, watch out for the pits of the sandworms, which are basically antlions for humans. And three, use the red strips of cloth set down by previous travelers as markers. They stand along the routes for all the ways through and out of the desert. Your supplies are your own problem, as are the monstrous encounters along the way.. The lizardmen here were much more susceptible to his strikes, so he made it with relative ease to Sunshade.

He needed a drink, but it wasn't thirst from battle. He'd seen something rather sickening, rotting in the sands as he came by. Near the border of the city of a thousand pleasures looked to be a small burial site. Initially, he had thought to pick the bones dry of any earthly attachment. But then he saw that fresh body. It was of a young woman, with light brown hair, only carelessly covered with a scrap of torn rag. Her body told of abuse that he cared not to investigate further, and he went on his way into the city with that image fresh in memory. True thieves, masters like him, avoid murder and bloodshed when they can, and will only go as far as incapacitating inconveniences like fellow humans. That scene was something he never wished to see.

He gazes down the town's main path of bustling commerce, past the square. One look at the extravagant tavern here told him there would be pockets for the picking. It's the biggest one he's seen yet. He had seen several of the wealthy dressed walk in there. He also saw the hovel where the dancers and entertainers came from. Something reeked in places that looked too good to be true. He learned his lesson with the Ravus Manor.

The sellers cry out their wares: lizard skin pelts, ornate feather sabers, cait's tail, even rare quatrait blooms. None of this particularly aroused his fancy. He was supposed to be looking for a stupid rock, for Aeber's sake. When a fruit seller hauling a basket of apples on his back passes by, he snags one surreptitiously and just stands there to snack on it. His attentive ears are tuned to pick up tidbits dropped from loose lips, perhaps something about odd stones.

He had merely stood there, before _she_ bumped into him, with a slight stumble. He drops his fruit onto the cobbled street. Neither of them falls over, but their eyes met for the briefest moment that would prove to be one of the most important in their lives.

The two of them, wary individuals quickly assessed the other in the split moment they had to recover, their perceptive eyes roving.

He saw a dancer. Long, brown hair in a ponytail, brown eyes...pale body, no comment. It's a dancer's body, lean and sinewy. Makeup isn't too caked up that it's distasteful. A beauty mark on the right side of her face, under her lip. She would probably be called beautiful. Red revealing dress clothes with gaudy attachments. All the bells and whistles. There's that necklace on her that might be worth something. Otherwise, she was pretty much exposed. He could see something attached to a strap near her waist. A dagger. Looks nice. Nothing else really that valuable to be noticed. He espies some blood on her feet and a handkerchief clenched in her hand. An injury?

She saw a likely hoodlum. White, messy short hair that covered one eye mostly. Green eyes and skin a shade darker than hers. Rather heavy bags under those eyes. Dark purple scarf and a thick, woolen shawl, probably to hide stolen goods or even weapons. Regular black pants with strapped leather boots, nothing interesting. From the shape of what she can glimpse of his neck and face, he has little fat and a lithe body under that shawl.

There was a slight clink when she made contact with him, like that of chains though. That should be a bit worrying, but she ignores it. The customs weren't flowing today, so they would need all they can get. There are always the surprise rich, who only dress like paupers to avoid the attention of thieves. She's grasping at straws a bit, but Helgenish is impatient.

"...Watch it." He says brusquely.

"... A thousand apologies, m'lord," She curtsies lightly, "Wouldn't you like to come join me for a drink?"

Ah, a prostitute. He detected something off about her attitude, like something else was there, besides submissiveness. Her voice, very luscious and throaty, also surprised him initially.

"... Maybe later."

She points at the tavern he had stared at moments ago, "Allow me to repay you there for the injury I gave you. I assure you, m'lord, it will be no disappointment."

She leans in and he can smell her sickening parfum. But it wasn't so cloying like the samples these sellers here on the bazaar advertised. He just did not like these sweet smells, and so he pulls back a bit, readjusting his scarf.

"... What're you doing with a knife?" He eyes her closely.

"... Come and you will find out." Ah, for him to see that, means he's a more perceptive one than all the men here. She'd have to be a bit more careful.

"He-ey! My favorite dancer!"

She turns to greet someone, a familiar regular it seems. She smiles the whole time she talks with him in trite banter. Therion was never good with people. He relied on the instinct of thieves, which advised that you hit or run first and ask questions later. But in her, he saw almost a perfectly faked smile. Perhaps he imagined it a little, but there was something else under that submissive veneer. Though he spotted it, he could not be sure of what it was.

She leads the regular away, towards the tavern. Before totally out of sight, she tosses him a slight side glance. He looks down to see if his fruit remained where it had fallen. It has rolled to the other side of the road. A child, very young, and very dirty, scrambles by, in place of a rat, and picks up the leftover before scurrying away.

This is no place for children. "The City of a Thousand Pleasures" is but a name, a disguise, for just another dirty place. The mountain blocking out the sun is not the only thing shady about this place. Therion scowls slightly, his expression hidden. It was like Bolderfall... but somehow it was worse, in its own way.

_I'll just take the damned drink and go._

Under the crescent of the waxing moon, he starts moving and walks to the tavern, picking up some souvenirs along the way, which he did not totally need. But a thief steals not only for necessity. He steals from those unworthy of their possessions because they cannot be trusted to keep them. A child had a single piece of candy. Therion pops it into his mouth and sucks on it a bit as he goes up the tavern steps, past the half watchful guard and drunk bouncer.

"Ehehe..eeh-hey..." The bouncer is red-faced with a bottle in hand, waving to Therion and others passing to enter, with a silly look of drunkenness on his face.

Inside is a vision of a bacchanal paradise. Wisps of smoke waft and soften the lights in the room, mixing with the scents of perfumes. Padded seats and cushions allow for customers, easily distinguishable by their exorbitant dress, to enjoy their drinks at their respective tables, crowded with wenches and dancers. Therion notes that most of the dancers wooing the men at their tables wear the same drab green. Supporting characters maybe. That means the one earlier... was a star of the show or something.

"Table for one, m'lord?" A petite woman, with short, dark brown hair in a blue dancer's garb walks up to him in a timid voice.

Therion just nods, taking in more of the place as he is led to an empty standing table. If he decided to make a failed robbery at the last minute, at least he'd see all the exits this time before then. How's that for foresight, Heathcoate?

This is probably one of the largest taverns he's been in, even bigger than the beer halls he recalls scampering through in his hometown as a kid. There is a second floor leading to guest rooms, lining the main hall as an open balcony level, where some other customers sit at higher vantage points, staring at the stage. The stairs up there is on the left. Doors on the side of the stage probably go to the preparation area, and the kitchen and bar are on the right. The stage takes up about a third or quarter of the main hall towards the back, and there is a large chandelier hanging there overhead, casting light down on what is supposed to be the main focus. All the other lights in the hall are relatively dwarfed.

"Anything to drink?" The dancer asks after he reaches the table, "Oh, m-my name is Yusufa, by the way, if you ever need to request-"

"Just an ale," Therion cuts her off, looking at the three green dancers on stage.

Yusufa nods quickly and scurries away. She's called off to another man in a keffiyeh, who already has two other women with him. His ale probably won't be coming any time soon.

"I'm glad you could make it, m'lord."

He feels the touch on his arm the same time that familiar voice addresses him. Out of instinct, he nearly draws his dagger, pulling his shackled arm away hastily. The chain jangles. It's her. The dancer in red. She definitely heard that sound. But how in Aeber's name did she sneak up on him like that? It must be the rowdiness of the place.

"... It seems I have a habit of surprising you, hm?"

"... Well, I'm here," Therion half-growls brusquely.

"Yes. Consider your first ale on the house, as repayment for earlier."

"What, do you have the authority to lose a few leaves?" He quirks an eyebrow.

She smiles slightly, in a childish, laughing manner, "No. But I know now you wouldn't be interested in what else I could offer."

Therion could kind of guess what those other goods would have been. He shifts an eye slightly to see some women lead their customers upstairs.

"... Did I offend your arm, m'lord?" She lightly reaches for the shackled wrist. He roughly pulls it away, beneath the folds of his cloak.

"No."

Her face shows no surprise, and her eyes are inscrutable. With a slight motion, she leans in a bit, so he can hear her voice in a low tone despite the loud atmosphere.

"It's a chain, isn't it."

He doesn't give anything away, staying silent.

"... Enjoy yourself, m'lord," She says that quietly, blinking slowly as she pulls away.

A voice calls for her maybe. Therion heard "Rose." She lightly adjusts the necklace around her neck before going towards the stage. The thief glimpses some red marks the necklace made on her nape from behind. A chain, hm? Did she know what she was talking about? Looking around, he sees that maybe she does. The dancers wear practical collars on their necks. Hers is just more embellished. Still a collar... a chain.

But that doesn't mean sympathy for their plight. Therion drums his free hand on the table as he waits for the drink to arrive. He stops when he starts feeling some stickiness along the surface. The banter around him is pretty much utter drivel, laced with sexual comments. The tavern is a frequent watering hole for him to gather information on viable places to rob. But, for all the grandeur it boasts, there is little concern with such gossip.

On the stage, the red dancer steps up, and the crowd around the thief roars with approval at her arrival. She puts on quite the cutesy act for them, before drawing a dagger and a fan. It's not the same dagger he glimpsed. That one was a bit more ornate and straighter. This is a weird, curved one.

Without further ado, some low, beating music drums up. Her movements start with the sound and follow it to the beat. If her body seemed plain before, it was no longer. It grows into a hypnotizing moving image. But that was irrelevant, and he wasn't going to say anything about it.

"H-here..." Yusufa brings him the long-awaited beverage.

"... Thanks."

As he drinks, Yusufa seems a bit lost in the moment, watching the woman on stage. Her movements are what anyone might find seductive and enthralling. With a flourish, she throws the dagger once, and it makes a clean swishing sound in the air as it sails. But then, it surprisingly returns to her, like a boomerang. That got Therion's attention. He didn't even see any string attached there.

"Isn't she amazing..." Yusufa breathes next to him.

"...Hmf," He leaves the very bottom of his flagon coated in the alcohol. Not the best quality drink, since it probably goes best with women. Despite what he had thought earlier, he lingers with his thirst sated, eyes on the stage.

She does more of those tricks with the knives, revealing there to be several hidden within the fan. With an unworldly grace, she leaps and prances effortlessly, slinging daggers. It's like a horizontal juggle in wide, gravity-defying arcs across the room. The patrons are careful not to stand in excitement, lest they lose an eye. When the blades return, one could easily have lost their fingers catching them. She always gripped them at the right place, at the right time, on the right beat. He was inwardly calling her a showoff when she caught the returning knives with the fan.

At the end of the show, there are several standing ovations, catcalls, and the drunken shouts of horny men. Whatever injury he saw earlier was of no effect on her at all. Either that or the dance was a weird one. Therion doesn't know his dances. Many dancers did not look the happiest with her hogging the attention. Yusufa's eyes never left the girl on stage.

"... What's her name," Therion sips the flagon dry.

"H-huh- O-oh... Primrose... m'lord."

"Hm."

Primrose. Weird name. He actually contemplates leaving a leaf as a tip. As he passes the coin between his fingers, he thinks back to the performance, and how the dance had taken all the attention he should have paid on her face to her hips. At the last moment, before the shouts for encore began, he glimpsed it. Her mouth is still set on a plastered, practiced smile. There's not a hole in that defense. Her eyes were just a bit unfocused on the scene before her. She wasn't really looking at them.

"Thank you, you are all too kind..." She blows some kisses to her adoring fans.

Even that line sounds trite. But all these guys just eat it up, uncaring of whether there is a presence of sincerity behind it. They probably would say stuff like that, in the same way, all the time. It's a bunch of masks here, and she has the best one of all. Therion can pull an act, sure. But he usually wouldn't, and definitely not for long nights.

When she steps off the stage, Therion decides to keep his coin, and makes for the exit. A man, dressed in sleeveless dark clothing, pushes past him roughly to exit first. He doesn't even stop to acknowledge the thief. Before he's out the door, Therion espies an ornate tattoo of what looks like black feathers on the left exposed arm.

Then, she goes pushing past him too, the dancer named Primrose. He stands back a bit, seeing her hurry. For the half-second she took to pass him, he saw the mask slip. Her face was that of something like urgency and anger. Before she even reached the welcome mat, a man blocks her way. He's rather large and fat, with a ridiculous mustache, and a sleazy looking face with a ruddy nose and bald head. His clothes are nice but wasted on him.

"And where might you be going, kitten?" Oh gods, his nasally voice is like a wood rasp to the ear.

"M-master..." Her voice betrays surprise, but she recovers quickly. Something was wrong though, as it wasn't as convincing as it should have been. It must have something to do with that rude tattooed man, whatever it was that made her lose her cool.

"Hm," The portly man, the master of the dancers probably, looks over his shoulder out at the darkening night, down into the town square, before setting his eyes back on the dancer with a look of hunger and relish, "Well, well, well. Curious, are we? Love at first sight, kitten?"

Her hand beside her clenches as her shoulders sag a little and her head dips down. She says it again, with a bit of a pleading tone, but just barely, "No, master..."

"Then get back to work. I won't have you abandoning our paying customs before the night is over!"

She remains rooted. He scowls slightly and steps closer, shoving his face at her own. His voice goes low and hissy, so it is harder to hear. But it oozes with malice.

"Need I repeat myself? Need I remind you..." His hand yanks slightly on the necklace, "...what happens to strays who have crossed me?!"

She still does not answer or move. Therion half expected him to strike her, before realizing his arrival had just about emptied her of whatever will or flame she just had. There was no need. The master roughly shoves her out of the doorway as he enters. She limply remains standing, looking down.

Taking it all in silently, Therion resumes his departure out of the establishment. He passes Primrose a bit slowly, eyeing her just a bit. She seems totally distraught.

_Well... I'm not going to let that bother me._

A casual stride returning to his step, he walks out into the night. Ah, he's stayed a bit too long. Getting to Cobbleston will have to wait until tomorrow, it seems. Sunshade is the place of night life, and so with the wane of the light comes a surge of man's darkest desires. Therion turns a blind eye to it all and goes to the inn, paying for a room with some coin he stole.

…

This is all I have...

I can't just let it slip through my fingers like this. Helgenish is eyeing me closely now from his spot at the bar. I resignedly return to greeting the customers, new and regular. Despite my slackened demeanor, I keep at least a semblance of my face up, and the customers hardly seem to notice as they fawn over me like usual.

"Oh ho ho ho, you seem more beautiful every time I see you..."

"I'll be here, if you'll have me..."

"I'll have another, lovely..."

So many of the same, trite faces... and all I can think of... is that mark on the left arm of that man...! I never forgot it. It was no mistake. He is here. At long last, after 10 years... But he is slipping through my fingers as we speak! I may never get this chance again...

"And then I- gyaah!"

The yelp brings me out of my daze for a moment. One of Helgenish's men is wrestling with a customer, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving his face down onto the table. Likely a non-payer. Struggle as he may, the goons drag him out by the pits. But that is not all that happens. Helgenish can be as cruel to customers who cross him as well as staff. He sips his dark wine, paying minimal attention to the scene. I feel a curse coming under my breath.

"What's wrong, Prim?"

My thoughts are interrupted by the voice of Yusufa behind me.

"... it's nothing..." I take a breath to steady myself.

"... He'll be at the inn..." She murmurs quietly so only we two can hear.

"...what?"

"The one in the dark clothes and the tattoo," She whispers rushed, "I heard him talking to another customer... He's leaving before daybreak..."

The tavern is open much too late. But it is possible I may have a chance after closing then. At least I would be able to sneak out of the dormitories at that time. I can't even begin to fathom how much that thought calmed me down. There was still a chance...

"...Thank you, Yusufa..."

"Ehe, oh it's just dumb luck..."

"Hey, fill 'er up!"

She's called away to a waiting customer. The gossip relieves me of most of that worry, for now. I can serve and flirt easier again, but still... that thought forever lingers now. I mustn't waste any more time.

"Oh, Primrose..." One customer, an older man in a fine suit, feels up my forearm as I fill his tankard, "I think I'd very much like a personal visit from you tonight..."

I laugh lightly and smile. There was no way. I finish pouring and look sweetly to him.

"Is that so? I'll have to give it some thought then."

He chortles and drinks. I rinse and repeat for the rest of the customers tonight. For a moment, I realize that the one from earlier, with the purple cloak, had left. He was an odd one alright. But it's not unusual for an interesting comer every now and then in this desert oasis.

Helgenish gestures for me to fill his cup. As I do so, a man in normal traveler's clothing walks over from outside up to the bar. He furtively slides Helgenish a piece of paper. The master takes a quick glance at it as the man makes his presence scarce once more. I slow my pouring and lean over just enough to glimpse the contents. I see the word "inn."

Now isn't that somewhat suspicious.

Before his attentions return to me, I refocus on the cup, which is near overflowing. After I stop, he takes a deep sip, before getting an appreciative handful squeeze of my rear.

"The seats are nicely filled, kitten." He chuckles to himself as he drinks, "You can expect a treat tonight."

"...You honor me, master."

"Oh, how I'd love to honor you some more tonight… Alas, I have some business. So, do sit tight for me, kitten."

Helgenish likely knows the man and is going to convene with him at the inn. It could just be a coincidence, but I would not mind striking him down alongside my father's killer.

Another stranger enters through the doors. Without being greeted and helped to a table, he waves to Helgenish, a smile under the messy sandy hair. The master plasters on a nervous grin. Odd.

"Helgenish."

"M-Mattias."

Helgenish waves me away dismissively. The two men sit at the bar and talk about frivolous events regarding business in Flamesgrace and the Kindling pilgrimage of the vicennia. Such matters of faith… do not concern me. I step away and just go attend to the rest of the tavern.

The rest of the night passes in a daze. We are not allowed to close until the last paying custom has departed the main hall. Dancers leave first and leave the bussing to the workers like Wilk. As we walk through the crowded streets back to the dorm, I stop by where the old man, Sadiq, stands. He has long stood at the gates of the town, merely a stone's throw away from the dorm. From since my first steps here, he has always smiled to me and other dancers. I cannot say he is not senile, but he is certainly friendly to us as humans. I've never seen him come to watch a show.

"Oh, long night today, eh?" He scratches his beard in one hand, another hand adjusting his turban as he smiles, crinkling the dark skin around his aged eyes.

"Yes... rather busy."

"I reckon it might rain soon…"

There isn't a cloud in the horizon. But I say nothing and nod along.

"Sadiq…"

"There is something coming, or something here," He babbles, "Ah, I keep forgetting exactly what… But the fruit was firmer today, and it was a bit sour, you know?"

People think him an old crazy man, a native Sunlander, who showed up with no memory. That I cannot affirm nor deny. But he is strong. He had once fended off a group of lizardmen threatening to scale into the city. After that, nobody minded his drabble as he stood by the walls of Sunshade, its loyal watchman. Some people leave him their scraps as alms. They say he is so due to staring at the sun all day, from dawn to dusk. I wonder sometimes what his mind has lost.

But at the moment, that is not what I need most from him. He is a polearm fighter and a good one at that. For a while now, I have been dropping by with hints of allure on him, doing small dancing gestures, and the like. I believe him to slowly be falling for me. As for why, well, I need assurance. My own strength is not wholly developed, having mainly trained only with my father, and so it would be useful to have someone with more combat expertise.

After working in the tavern for so long, I have built a repertoire for seduction. Call me a dark sorceress if you wish, I don't care. This power of mine, inherited from the bloody shield of the Azelhart house, will serve like everyone else to my goal as a tool.

"I will probably be leaving tonight, Sadiq," I murmur quietly so only the two of us can hear, "Likely forever."

"Why ever for, m'lady?" He strokes his beard, looking out tentatively out to the sands beyond, "Don't you have that boy, Umar, waiting for you at home?"

"Sadiq… I will be dancing elsewhere. And I might… need your help," I lean forward to him, smelling the desert air off his disheveled self, "There will danger ahead that… I cannot face alone."

His eyes widen at me. For the first time, I see them up close with some variance of clarity. They are a hue of blown-blue…

"Will you assist me, Sadiq?" Please, let my allure pierce that damn fog in your head…

He blinks once, twice, three times. There is a slight inhale as I see some spark in his eyes. Slowly, one of his weathered hands goes to brush my face. But what I see is not a look of lust as I have witnessed too often. His expression… is the same. The same as that of my father the night he said goodbye to me. My own eyes widen and I pull back before my shields can be breached.

Sadiq holds his hand out still, not having reacted to my movement. His lips move, obscured by his grayed mustache and beard. For a moment, the clarity in his eyes appear watery. I hear the lowest sound, a name perhaps, fall from his lips. But only a part of it, for he was much too quiet.

"…fa…"

"… I will see you again later tonight, Sadiq."

Brushing off whatever weakness I may have shown, I hastily retreat to the dormitories. Lily and her posse remain, mostly gathered about in gossip. Yusufa looks up immediately to me. Wordlessly, without meeting her gaze, I sit down on the shaggy carpet a pace away from her. It will be lights out soon after we are fed whatever meager slop Helgenish deems us worthy of. And then, I shall make my move.

Wilk opens the door with a high stack of something on a cloth-covered plate. We all look to him expectantly.

"Food's up."

The cloth pulls off to show stale pita. Ration food, really. I can hardly swallow a few bites of my first bread, the anxiousness to action eating me inside out. Yusufa fills my tin cup with water for me, which I down thirstily.

"…Thanks," I mutter quietly.

"Is your foot alright…?" She asks in an equally low tone.

The sting of the thorn hadn't hurt while I was on stage dancing. But as I was serving customs, I became acutely aware of some pain from the prank Lily and her group pulled. But I can't pay it any mind now…

"I'm fine."

"Alright ladies," Wilk claps the pita crumbs off his hands, "Lights out in a few."

"That's it, Wilk? We've been dancing all day!" Maria whines, "No meat?"

"Sorry," Wilk shrugs apologetically, "I've been working all day too, you know."

Maria sighs in resignation. She, Lily, and Yvette retreat to their cots in the next room. Me and Yusufa remain as Wilk picks up the plate, cloth, and cups.

"Sleep soon. You got another day ahead," He says as he leaves, closing the door.

"There's always another day…" Yusufa mutters miserably.

I stare into the flickering candle lighting the place in silence. It no longer hurts my eyes after a while.

"Ah, Prim, I saw you go talk to Sadiq…" Yusufa's voice trails when she sees me looking elsewhere, "Uhm… Prim?"

I sigh, "… yes?"

"When are you getting out?"

"… You… shouldn't get involved, Yusufa… You'll get in trouble for something you have nothing to do with…" I don't look at her.

"But Prim, I'm… I'm on your side," She blurts.

That catches me off-guard. "…My… side?"

_Girlie, I get where you're coming from, I'm totally on your side…_

Yusufa nods, "I may not know what you're thinking or… well, you wouldn't tell me what's wrong either. But I saw you get flustered tonight… And so, I know it's important. And I want to help…"

"…Why…" I feel my barbs pricking up a wall of defense. This can't be … why is she…

"… I … lived back in Rippletide, with my mum and dad. He named me Yusufa, because he was from the Sunlands. One day… I don't know. He got sick and never came home. I was probably… six then? ...I still remember the touch of his hand..." She chortles softly and tucks a bit of stray tuft of hair behind her ear, "Anyway, mum remarried… and when the wartimes came, and things got tough… I was sold here to work before I was even thirteen…"

"…"

"… It's… lonely, you know?" I hear a brittleness in her voice creep in, "I mean, you see it too. It's a cesspool … everyone's so miserable… so they try to make everyone else like that by being cruel… I thought it'd be like that forever, miserable and lonely… with no friends."

For a second, she draws her knees up to her chest quietly, then looks to me with shimmering eyes. I realize they are watery, and that look… is familiar.

"Do you remember, Prim, when we first met?"

"…Yes. I was your junior in the business…"

"Ehe, not that the title mattered… you outshine all of us on stage. You… were different, I could tell, from when I first saw you," She smiles a little, eyes still shimmering, "No matter how bad the days were, you always walked so tall, and danced so proudly… You're… inspiring, Prim."

The last part was like a confession. It had taken something out of her to say it. I myself… could scarcely believe my ears. Was this sincerity? Or am I being lulled?

"…I …"

"Prim, we're… I mean… I want-"

_I want you, little flower._

I briskly stand and go to the candle and blow it out, cutting her off. The room turns dark, but our eyes quickly adjust to the lights from the night outside.

Yusufa squeaks slightly, "P-Prim?"

"Goodbye."

I grab my small hidden pouch of belongings and go out the side window of the dormitory. We used to sneak out this way, many of us dancers, when going to steal some food from the armory next door. But they had since caught us, and we had stopped using it. Now is the last time I will step out of this building again, likely.

The guard by the door is sleeping standing up, having nodded off. Quickly, I make my way to the city gate to see Sadiq. The pain on my foot is stronger.

Damn it all… why did she… have to go telling me… These damn thoughts now bubble to the surface that I had long tried to shove under and keep down. I have heard such sweet words before. I remember the faces which spoke them. They were liars, who promised me the same. That they would help me find my father's killers, that they were on my side... How many times had blind hope led me into compromising situations?

_Crows? Well, I don't know them, but since you're here, how about I hear you caw?_

_Oh, you're so beautiful, dainty Primrose…_

I can't… let my guard down again…

Sadiq is there, as he always is. However, he is standing, gripping what looks to be a Sunland spear. When I approach him, he faces me. I test the waters carefully. Slowly, I step forward and feel a slight surge of magic throughout. I am aware of his consciousness. It is like a certain tune I can see and hear, and I alone can tune to it. Moving my body to its rhythm, I twirl slightly, once, until I am right before him. In his clouded eyes, I see my own are a slightly darkened scarlet. I know this is it, the culmination of my allure.

"Come now," I say airily, with a low sultry tone, "Don't you want to see me dance forever?"

His eyes barely widen, but they grow soft and glib. Success. His lips move, moaning a bit as he speaks in confession.

"Ah, I cannot resist the way you move…"

I smile.

"Then pray, come hither…"

…

For as long as he could remember, the thief could never sleep normally, nor should he. When he closed his eyes, he would relive that moment and those memories. Darius and him, on that cliff. He had run this over a thousand times by now in his head. The ending always was unexpected and jolted him right out of rest, even though he'd lived it before. He would wake always wake up more tired than he was before.

So, he just stopped sleeping.

Or so he tried. After about four days, he would usually reach a point of collapse. But the fatigue seemed to be able to keep the nightmares at bay, and he would rest like a brick. Then, rinse and repeat. There were also those moments when drinking managed to wash away some of the unpleasantness in his mind, but it often also augmented the terrors. After nearly burning down a tavern when he woke up screaming, he no longer drank himself until he blacked out.

Today, it seems it would be one of the better days. The trek across the desert was rather tiring, and he can feel his eyelids pulling like weights, trying to close. Great, then he can be rested by tomorrow.

A loud slam interrupts his near slumber. These walls are thin, and people are rude. He makes a sound of disapproval before turning over. His trained ears pick up on any noises from any conversation occurring.

"…bishop… lanthorn…"

"M...ster Rufus…"

"…meon… sidians…"

Three people are talking. And one of them is a bit familiar in voice. But it's not really any of his business.

"…Cianno…"

A violent twitch runs through Therion, like the cold prick of a dagger from behind. Now, he was much more awake.

"Dragonstones... ate of Finis..."

Oh gods. The accursed stones now too.

"… friends, Helgenish?"

"Y-Yes, of course!"

There is a scuff of chairs and footsteps. The opening of a door and the clink of a coin. The doorway out. Therion rolls over onto the floor and peeps out the small window of his room down to the street. The man with the tattooed arm again. He goes to the right from the inn. A sandy-haired man exits after him and goes to the left. Therion hears a slight grunt from the tattoo man when the sandy-haired one says a parting formality. That responding voice is the one that mentioned the name of that damned family and stones.

When all is relatively quiet once more, the men left their respective ways. Therion remains tense, by the window. The Ciannos… no matter where he runs, it seems futile. The past won't let him go. And the dragonstones too... what in the hells did that damn Ravus family throw him into.

Before he is about to book it and just hike the night to Cobbleston, he sees movement from the building corner. From the side of the inn, that dancer pokes her head out. It's her, Primrose.

She looks around a few times before darting in the direction of the tattooed man. Like an experienced sneak, she hides behind some barrels and whatever else there is on the street, occasionally gesturing to the man with a turban and a spear following her. Before long, they've run off and out of his proximity.

Now that's just odd…

"…"

He'd had nothing to lose, having not even a hint on the dragonstones other than this. That is what he tells himself when he goes after her.


	3. Chapter 3: First Blood

What in the hells was he doing? His days of messing with the Ciannos are over, aren't they? All he wants to do is survive. Leave the messes to other people. But what about when they have what he wants? Like his pride back?

Maybe he still wanted to get back at them, in truth, for what they did. And what Darius did…

Nevertheless his motivations, he finds himself having trailed the dancer through the dark and quiet back alleys of the city. Beggars smoking from conjoined hookahs, some two peasants humping like animals in some hay, kids searching through the trash…

You have to love Sunshade.

After leaping down a bit of some limestone stairs, he finds himself before the crumbling gateway into the city catacombs. There is a draft of sandy air from within, smelling like musty old breath as it billows past. He covers his nose slightly with the folds of his scarf. His sensitive ears pick up the faint steps within and he espies slight imprints in the sand leading inward. They definitely went in there.

He takes a few steps in, running as silent as he can. Once sure no one saw him, he dashes on in, past the flickering sconces lining the ways of the place. Luckily, sand and limestone aren't very loud mediums underfoot to alert those possibly ahead, and he wasn't called a fleet-footed thief for nothing.

This entire place is rather dark and crumbling, a mere shadow of whatever grandeur some lost civilization left behind. Weathered motifs of ionic columns and fiery wings grace some of the cracked walls where bodies were carted into the carved hollows within the stone walls. These were eternal resting places, no longer sanctified. Time had not been kind to those in their rest here, as whatever respect may have been intended has been worn away by neglect and maybe grave robbers. The skeletal feet of those lain in eternal repose peek out from behind some of the cracked sandstone, and a skull or two might look out as well. A hand occasionally hangs out, looking ready to grab at the passing thief. Don't look, don't look…

But he does hear something behind. Someone trailing. Quickly, he draws himself into a crevice along the old wall by a lit pillar. They're not very heavy steps from how they sound. Very rushed though, accompanied by the sound of heavy breathing. Ah, and something, a second noise, is following it quickly, with unnatural steps. Actually, it sounds more like the skittering of claws…

When the initial noise nears, he leaps out, dagger aimed at where the neck should be.

"YEEEK!"

He violently stops, the dagger inches from Yusufa's face. The girl looks at him with scared eyes, arms raised.

"M-mister…"

She's harmless. But what was she running from? He quickly looks behind her for the source of the following sound. A large, magenta assassin bug with green eyes gleaming leaps at the two of them, mandibles snapping with a rabid hiss.

"Tsk!" He shoves the girl out of the way reflexively and fends with his shackled arm. He feels those mandibles sink into his flesh where the bangle didn't cover.

"Ah!" Yusufa yelps slightly when she's pushed. Upon seeing him bitten, she grabs a rock without thinking and smacks the insectoid on the head with it, so hard that a crack is heard. She drove in the rocks pointed edge, cracking some of its head's carapace.

_Hiiissss!_ The monster reels, forearms rubbing its head in annoyance. Its ugly little feelers wave in the air as it regains its bearings. Mandibles snapping, it rears its head at the two of them and takes an offensive stance with its razorblade arms.

These kinds of creatures have reinforced joints that make it hard for daggers to pierce. Better to smash it with a heavier weapon. Therion quickly swaps to his sword before the bug recovers, bringing it down on the thoracic exoskeleton. The damn thing doesn't hold still and dodges slightly, but he gets a portion of its abdomen and one of its legs.

The thing hisses and limps slightly, now wary. Therion holds his blade in reverse and rushes in again. The bug seems to anticipate slightly, and lunges, two of its clawed appendages raised. Then Yusufa throws her pointed rock at the thing.

By some miracle or Aeber's luck, the rock lands where the first hit had been, on the head. The insect misses its lunge at Therion as its wound is aggravated. Taking advantage of that diversion, Therion severs the thorax in half, spraying green insect guts on the floor. The thing still wriggles when bisected, now trying to crawl away. After a few long seconds, it curls up and dies. And it is quiet again.

Therion gives a sigh and swipes his sword at the nearby wall, flinging the bug's blood off. Beasts and insects are no problem. But he still preferred not to fight if he could help it. You never know when they can call for their many little friends. Yusufa's legs shake a bit as she takes a deep breath to try and calm down.

"W-whew… t-thank you, mister… I heard these things infest the catacombs but…"

"No more 'm'lord?' What are you even doing here?" He sheathes his weapon and looks to her pointedly, "Aren't you supposed to be working in the tavern?"

"Uhh, oh, it's closed this late, mister…" She smiles nervously and scratches her cheek lightly. She's definitely suspicious now.

"… You following that red one? Primrose-or-what's-her-name?" He recalls how she had looked at her dancing.

"Y-yes…" She hangs her head at being found out so easily, "I… I was worried when she ran out so suddenly…"

Ran away hm? Can't blame her given the conditions of the situation. Therion looks nonchalantly at a splatter of bug juice on the wall, "She had someone with her. And she seemed to know her way around a knife. Should be alright."

"T-Then might I ask why _you're_ here, mister?" She tries to peer at his face in the dim underground, in the flickering light of the old sconces.

He doesn't answer, instead shrugging slightly.

"I-I have some ointment for your arm..." She flusters slightly and pulls out a small clay capsule, looking at the injury on his shackled arm, "I'm sorry about … that."

He couldn't tell whether she meant the injury or the shackle. The wound wasn't too deep that his arm was unusable. He also didn't want her touching him. "... It's fine."

"…Uhm," She looks down the path of the catacombs, where the musty air whistles from a probable opening further in, "I-if it's alright with you, we seem to be going the same way. So…"

"You want an escort," He sighs bluntly. Why was he always getting dragged into things?

She looks down with some embarrassment, "Well… you're right… You're not … involved, right… so I guess you wouldn't ..."

He wasn't. He should never have. But he found himself not turning back for the inn.

"… I'm this far down," He shrugs again, "May as well see the rest of this."

Yusufa's face brightens. He has to look away as she profusely thanks him. Gods, she sounds like that damn Ravus woman, Cordelia…

"C'mon they went this way. We wasted time already," He says brusquely, running ahead.

"R-right!" She follows as fast as she can, "O-oh, m-might I have your name, mister…?"

"…It's not important."

_You don't let them know your name or face. Got it? Anyone can use it against you by tracing or whatever._

That Darius in his head is still lecturing him.

"Alright…" She says a bit quietly, brushed off.

"…Any idea what she's doing?"

"Ah, she's going after someone she spotted in the tavern… I'm not sure for what… But it was serious, I'm sure."

Splendid. Just what is he getting himself into?

"You know if there's some way out of here other than the way we came?"

"Er," She thinks a moment, "These old passages predate a lot of the town actually... so, maybe? People don't always know their way down here... After a few missing persons, people stopped coming entirely. We don't bury the dead here anymore... Then it got infested by monsters... So, I guess it must lead outside the city, to the desert. That's where they should come from, I think..."

They come to a split in the paths, where one way led down some darkened stairs, another way goes on into darkness, and the last path turns around the bend. Therion plucks a torch from the holder on the wall.

"Missing persons hm."

"Yes... they say the labyrinthine ways are notorious for trapping people," Yusufa swallows a bit, "They don't need burials then..."

"Cheery thought," Therion sighs and looks down the paths with an appraising eye, "Alright... eeny-meeny-miney...here."

He takes the path around the bend. The girl follows hastily.

As they take the turn, the thief nimbly dodges the messy swing of a stone hatchet aimed at his face. He backs slightly into Yusufa, who is startled a bit. A lizardman staggers out of the shadows with gleaming red eyes. There are cuts littering its body that bleed red blood. It seems to be on its last legs, persisting.

"Hrrssss..."

With a slight growl, Therion yanks out his dagger and retaliates with a small cut at the reptilian's chest. It sprays a bit before the thing finally seems to give up and collapses forward onto its knees and sprawls on the floor, dead.

"Eh..." Yusufa looks down at the corpse, "It was already hurt...?"

"Well, looks like we're going the right way."

"Prim did this?" She breathes in disbelief at the notion.

"I told you they'd probably be alright."

Yusufa falls silent. Therion shrugs slightly and runs on. She follows, picking up the hatchet first from the slain creature. As they run through the darkened halls, they see other lizards felled prior their coming, as well as some speared bugs, guts oozing.

"Prim..." The girl retains a tone of some worry as she looks around briefly.

Therion rolls his eyes slightly. What a trail this is.

There is a blast of warm air felt as they forge ahead. A draft from the desert maybe. They are close to some kind of exit. There are crumbling pathways here, as well as the remains of some lizardmen camp. Among the shattered crates, Therion luckily sees movement from the corner of his eye. With the reflexes of a cat, he parries with his dagger at the incoming strike. The sound of the metal clashing rings throughout the corridor.

In the firelight, he sees those brown eyes again. At initial light, they looked reddish. Primrose looks back at him with slight bewilderment, their blades locked. Her blade point is inches from his chest. His own knife is a hair's breadth from her face.

"What... are you doing here..." She snarls slightly, not backing down immediately.

"... Might ask you the same," He replies cooly.

"Prim!" Yusufa sighs with some relief, poking out from behind Therion, "You're ok..."

"Yusufa-?!" Prim gawks a bit at the girl's presence before looking pointedly at Therion, "You _brought_ her here?!"

"She came after you herself. I'm just here...," Therion says levelly with some thought, "...Making sure she didn't get chewed up by a bug, I guess."

With a slight scowl, Prim loosens her grip and disengages with his blade. A bearded man with a turban pokes his head out by some standing barrels, holding a bloodied polearm. With a somewhat clueless and friendly expression, he waves to Yusufa and Therion.

"Ah, good morning!"

"W-what's Sadiq doing here too?" Yusufa gasps.

"I asked him to come," Primrose says simply, "Why are you here..."

"I-I was worried after you ran off like that, Prim... I told you, I'm on your side."

"... I'm fine. You should go back," Prim's eyes seem to slightly avert away from the other dancer's, "While you still can."

"I'm here as it is, Prim..." Yusufa steps forward and suddenly grabs her free hand, "We may as well run away together!"

Prim stares, a bit dumbstruck at the sudden proposal. Therion's visible eye widens slightly with some surprise. Was this really the right time for all this mush?

"... Tsk," Primrose clicks her tongue in slight annoyance and exasperation, pulling her hand from the hold. She turns to continue into the darkness, mumbling slightly, "I can't waste any more time trying to dissuade you... If you come, I'm not responsible for what happens."

Yusufa practically glows at that. She turns and bows to Therion deeply, "Thank you for your help!"

"... it's nothing..." He hadn't expected that kind of reaction after she was sort of just brushed off.

"You shouldn't go back the way you came... it could be dangerous! Come with us too, mister... mister..." She realizes he never told her his name.

"..." Therion sighs and acquiesces, "Therion."

"Mister Therion!"

"Just... just Therion is fine," He mutters, eyeing Primrose, "What is it you even plan to do?"

"He's still ahead of us..." The dancer in red says only that before rushing ahead. She doesn't even need a lantern in this poor lighting?

Sadiq glances at Yusufa before following after Prim, "Come on then, Yusufa."

"Eh...Eh?" Yusufa blinks after the old man, "Sadiq?"

"You coming?" Therion moves to pass her with the torch in hand.

"Ah, yes!" She seems to shake off the previous feeling and follows after them eagerly.

They run through the dark, only dimly lit by Therion's torch. The crumbling structure seems older here, with dust spilling from the ceilings and some skeletons lain on the floor, robbed clean of anything they might have carried. Not all are human.

"So, what plans do you have for after this," Therion says to no one in particular.

"None of your business," Prim says curtly.

"Great," Therion rolls his eye.

Ahead, there is dim moonlight streaming in from a gaping hole above a portion of collapsed wall. Bricks torn out of the structure form a haphazard hill to climb up to the opening, which seems wide enough for monsters to get in and people to get out. Without hesitation, Primrose starts climbing up the jumble of stones. Therion extinguishes the torch and tosses it aside before following in suit. Sadiq, seeing Yusufa struggle a bit, offers her a hand.

"Thank you, Sadiq..." She takes his hand and a perplexed emotion crosses her face for a moment before she clambers up after them.

They exit the hole to face the night air... and see the light from the torches of waiting predators.

Surrounding the party fresh out of the catacombs is about ten men, dressed in metal armor with helmets and scimitars drawn. Their faces are shielded from the billowing sand by red scarves. But their eyes show hardened, cold gleams. They did not see people; they saw cockroaches.

"Helgenish's lackeys..." Primrose curses under her breath.

"Indeed, my dear."

The voice sends a violent shudder through Yusufa. Prim herself conceals her surprise well. On a slightly elevated rock, Helgenish steps forth with two personal guards bearing lanterns. The light illuminates his ruddy, grinning face as he sneers down at the four.

"Why, kitten, this is far enough. Whatever possessed you to come out here, hm?" He chuckles, "Thought you could escape?"

"Master..." Prim adopts the timeless façade, making herself sound surprised and servile, like nothing is wrong, "What might you be doing out here at this hour?"

"I had the sneaking suspicion you might try something like this after that performance at the tavern earlier... and luckily, I only needed to see that stray over there sneaking out to affirm myself," He points accusingly at Yusufa with a sneer.

Yusufa pales, "Wh-! I-"

"Tsk..." Therion looks around at the appalling odds against them while barking a bit at Yusufa on the side, "You didn't see to it that you weren't followed?"

"I-I did! I must've… Prim, I-" She looks to the silent dancer pleadingly, voice begging, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Enough, now," Helgenish refocuses his sights on Primrose, "Why don't you come home, kitten? Maybe I'll even consider being nice if you return..."

Primrose's hand hangs at her side, clenching into a fist slowly. She doesn't even look to Yusufa, whose bottom lip quivers a bit.

_This is all I have._

"Of course," Helgenish grins as he strokes one half of his mustache with smug satisfaction, "This other riffraff will be dealt with accordingly-"

"_Enough."_

Primrose's voice cuts her master off immediately with her tone. She sounds dangerous, like a venomous cobra, drawn taut and ready to strike.

"…What did you just say?" Helgenish narrows his eyes at the dancer in red. His hand on his mustache freezes, nearly pulling a hair off.

"You will not stand in my way anymore... I've gotten what I want from you... So, stand aside," She slowly looks up to him with an icy glare, "Or I will cut you down."

"You DARE take that tone with me?!" Helgenish barks, spittle flying, "After all I've done for you... I OWN you, you stupid whore! If it weren't for me, you would-"

"You've done me no favors, master. You have given me _nothing_," Primrose's dagger hand tightens and raises to point at the rotund figure, "I saw you for the swine you were from the day I laid eyes on you. I have gotten what I wanted from your stage. And now... you're nothing to me."

"You BITCH! You'd best put that impertinent mouth of yours where it belongs!" A visible throb can be seen at Helgenish's temple, "You'll have to pleasure me a good deal for me to forgiv-"

"Master, go pleasure yourself."

Therion resists a full-on laugh, but he lets out a snicker at her well-timed counter. Helgenish's face is that of pure fury. She's not afraid of him at all. Her eyes are clear and sharp like the blade she holds steadily, pointed at him. _Him,_ the master, of all people! But he will not be humiliated, not by mere property. With a slight growl, he takes on a menacing, lower tone, like when he used to threaten her.

"Wrong answer, kitten..." He snarls, completely livid as his nostrils flare, "You know what I do to the little cats who bite back?! I put them DOWN!"

His men dart forth at his signal, swords raised. Therion feels his stomach flop a bit and wishes he never bothered listening to that conversation that spurred him out of bed. For now, his trained body keeps its wiry figure out of harm's way, dodging the slashes. Sadiq suddenly gives a loud bellow of strength and sweeps in a wide arc, keeping Yusufa behind himself protectively. His polearm catches a good many of the lackeys by surprise, flinging one against a rock and cracking the helm open. That one falls in a pile onto the sandy ground. The others now steer clear of that spear.

Many of the forces seem to focus on Primrose, encircling her first. One is stupid enough to jump at her alone, blade swinging aimlessly with a far cry. Her feet daintily spin on the ground, allowing her to twirl past the slash by mere inches. Her dagger hand digs into the red scarf as she passes with grace, only a hair's breadth parallel to his body. A strangled noise comes from the lackey she stabbed in the throat and the body flops to the ground, twitching. Tis a dance of risk and death.

But Therion didn't have time to stare. He was the second biggest target. The pain in his arm from the bug earlier stings a bit as he draws both his sword and dagger, dual-wielding to fend off the attackers. He kicks one in the chest as a springboard and knees another in the head after jumping into the air, avoiding a clumsy slash. But he still avoided cutting them wide open, aiming instead to sever their joints and armor. Disabled, one lackey cries out in pain as he crumples to the ground. Therion had slashed out the tendons in his arms and legs.

"D-AAGH! GODS WHY?!"

"Come ON, just kill them already!" Helgenish screeches from his vantage point. His two personal guards have their hands to the hilts of their blades, ready.

Primrose murmurs something, an incantation of sorts, as she dodges past the many attacks clumsily swung her way. Where her feet touch and where her fingers trace the air, darkness ripples in space and forms opaque wisps. Channeling dark energy, she dances faster and faster by them until she's woven a net of dark matter around the men. A devilish grin forms on her lips and her eyes glow a dark scarlet as she comes to the end of her spell weaving. It sounds like a song from an older time, almost in a different language even.

"_...where mine weary feet landeth in dark, blessed be to the guiding moonlight; Where mine enemies doth trot, o'night ode, bring your shade."_

As the last syllable falls and her steps touch down to the last beat, the men suddenly feel an immense force grasp at their bodies and twist at their souls from within. Darkness threatens to crush them, a force unseen. Screams of the damned fill the air as they cry out in pain from the dancer's dark ode. Primrose merely takes advantage of their temporarily immobile state to weave her blade about them, slitting their throats. One by one, they fall to her blade, blood pooling and bodies twitching their last.

Therion's eyes widen a bit. She's a complete temptress. Not to be outdone, he incapacitates one lackey by knocking him in the nuts, then smashing his sword pommel into the helmet. The body jerks and goes slack before rolling harmlessly onto the sand with a soft thud. He's probably alright. Onto the next one.

"Arrgh! No, no, no!" Helgenish's eyes bulge as he watches his lackeys fall like flies. His antsy hands twitch and then direct his two personal guards at the group, "Kill them! That is an ORDER!"

The two guards rush in, throwing aside their lanterns and brandishing their long scimitars. Therion is occupied blocking one lackey as it is. Before the guard can dig some bloody furrows in him, Sadiq makes a perfect strike from afar with his weapons reach, catching the attack and forcing it away from Therion.

"Careful now!" The old man hollers.

Therion can only nod, knocking the guard back with an elbow to the chest. The guard recovers and makes a fast strike at his torso with a kick. The thief manages to pull his body back, avoiding a heavy hit, before ripping into the leg with his dagger. The guard curses loudly before smashing one of his sword hands into Therion's face.

Therion turns his face away slightly to avoid a direct hit, but his head still gets knocked by that incoming knuckle. He reels back some steps to see the guard stumble a bit on his posture, one leg now nearly useless as it bleeds out onto the sand.

"Damn bastard…!" The guard growls at him, brandishing his blades, "I'll KILL you!"

Therion smirks a bit. He doesn't feel the small trickle of blood from where the skin on his temple split a little after that hit, "You hit like a girl."

"Keep talking!" The guard, incensed by the thief's taunt, rushes forward. The thief meets him in a furious clash of whirling metal.

"Let's dance, girlie..." Meanwhile, the other guard rushes at Primrose with razor focus, twin blades whirling.

The dancer pulls out another dagger from near her waist, clashing with his advances fiercely. The strikes are strong, however, and he isn't letting her get anywhere out of the way to perform any more magic. In a battle of pure strength, she is slowly pushed back. A lackey, still conscious, kicks at her bad foot. She curses mentally as she stumbles slightly, a fatal mistake in battle. Her stance falters, leaving her wide open to an incoming slash.

"Prim!" Yusufa runs in, dodging Sadiq's watch and ramming the guard on the shoulder with the stone hatchet she had picked up. The blow seems to stun him for a second, allowing Primrose to recover her footing. She promptly fells the prone lackey who struck her with a swift foot to his neck. His body jerks and tenses up before foam arises to his lips and his eyes roll back into his head and he relaxes. Primrose skirts back some steps with Yusufa behind her, eyes on the guard. He has reoriented himself and snarls at the interruption.

"I'll take both you bitches on!" He roars.

"Yusufa, get back...!" Primrose grips her dagger tightly, not realizing her hand shook just slightly. She doesn't thank the girl quite yet.

"You don't have to fight alone, Prim...!" Yusufa looks nervously at the fray around them, hatchet poised to strike.

"...Stay near me..." Prim murmurs just loud enough for her to hear before slinging her daggers at the guard.

Sadiq supports Therion from a slight distance, blocking hits that come his way with gusto. He occasionally glances at Prim and Yusufa's direction.

"Argh, what's with this old man?!"

The small remainder of enemies does not seem so interested in him, focusing more on the thief still. Therion feels his bad arm numb slightly as the battle wears on. He barely notices it's been bleeding all the way down his shirt by now.

Helgenish sees it, however. He also sees the blood coming from Primrose's leg. There is a murderous glint in his eyes. While the others are embroiled in the fight, he slips quietly from where he stood. Primrose, seemingly invigorated by Yusufa's presence, presses against the guard, who deflects her daggers, trying to make his way closer to her with his blade. Even if he hits the daggers off course, they spin backward with odd aerodynamics, landing near enough to the dancer that she can sling them again with ease, like an unending volley of blades.

"Damn... bitch!"

Yusufa smacks down a lackey who reaches for his sword on the ground, "Whew...!"

She turns to Primrose in time to see their master gone from his place. She espies him nearing Primrose, pulling a blade from behind himself. Primrose seems to see him too late, and her foot at that moment gives out a slight inch. The guard dashes past her last thrown dagger, letting another one clip his helm harmlessly. Grinning with bloodlust, he charges for her, blade raised. As the two of them seem ready to pincer Primrose and send her to the afterworld, time seems to slow down for Yusufa.

_No..._

She throws aside the heavy hatchet, running for the dancer in red. Every step seems to be an eternity as flecks of sand spray from under her soles. The blades inch ever closer, but she mustn't stop, not for a nanosecond. Her arms reach for Primrose, like a lover's rush to embrace. Her mouth is open in a soundless scream.

_Please...please let me... let me make it!_

Prim, cursing inwardly, feels a rough shove on her side. She barely turns in time to see Yusufa's desperate face, her small body ramming into hers with all its strength to push her out of the way. Her voice catches in her throat as she feels herself fly backwards through time, which slows to the flow of honey. The blades are too close now... too close to Yusufa... and Prim reaches out her hand in vain. Her voice bursts out in a single cry, unblocked.

"YUSUFAA!"

There is the sickening sound of metal entering and ripping flesh. A spray of crimson erupts and stains the sand. Therion and Sadiq turn a bit too late to see the moment occur, only prompted by Primrose's subsequent scream. The thief's eyes grow wide at the spectacle.

Yusufa, having knocked Primrose out of the way, twitches, caught in a cross stab between Helgenish's dagger and the guard's blade. Her body seems limp, blood running down from the two opening wounds on her torso. To Therion's immense relief, she shudders and sputters. But it Is a short-lived reprieve, seeing as the girl is still bleeding to death.

"Ngh...!" Yusufa trembles and coughs, suspended from her impalement. Her lips stain red with blood, and the same crimson runs down her dangling arms, dripping onto the sand.

Primrose, knocked about two feet away, is back on her feet before the guard can react and pull his sword out to face her. She thrusts the dagger straight under his chin in a single, smooth, savage motion. There is a crack as the dagger pierces his palate and enters the base of his cerebral cavity. The body spasms for a second as a thick bout of blood pours from the knife entry, and he is ultimately still. Primrose relentlessly pulls her blade out, letting the body fall. She directs her murderous gaze now onto Helgenish, eyes alight with a fiery and hellish hue.

"H-Hiieee!" He pulls his dagger out of Yusufa and darts back some distance, startled by the demonic glare. The girl drops listlessly to the ground. "K-kitten, don't do anything you'll regret!"

Therion finishes the last of the guards with a furious flurry of dagger strikes, slightly cursing under his breath. Sadiq runs to Yusufa's side first, ignoring a shallow slash across his back. He looks at the girl with a loss as of what to do, and hastily unbinds his turban to try and truss her wounds.

"The only thing I regret, master..." Primrose advances towards the man, a dark aura swirling with each step, coalescing into the image of a great dark beast. It growls, though the noise may as well also be coming from the vengeful dancer, "...Is that I did not do this sooner!"

"K-KITTEN-"

With a snarl, she blurs past him in a flurrying midnight waltz. The dark energies envelop her form and make a series of dark scythes in the air. As Primrose dances circles around him, with movements faster than the eye may track, the dark blades slash Helgenish in many places, turning him into near ribbons. Like a pig being slaughtered, he squeals in pain at the barrage of cuts, his blood spewing like a sprinkler.

"GYA-K—P-PRIMROSE-!"

He is torn this way and that by the magic as she relentlessly assaults him from all angles. The way the blades batter him left and right make him look like a dancing puppet with its strings being snapped, one by one.

"S-STOPP-"

Wordlessly, she weaves past and ends her dance behind him. Therion's eyes widen as the dark energies begin to abate, unable to look away from the gradual de-escalation of the enthralling dark crescendo. Helgenish freezes, only sniveling pathetically as he feels the cold steel of the dancer's dagger at his throat. It presses against his sweaty, bloody flesh of a neck. He squeaks, pleading feebly and blubbering as his sweat and tears mix with his blood.

"P-Primrose, no... no, please, nonononooo..."

"It seems in the end..."

She draws her blade across his neck with a single, brisk action, like butchering an animal, her eyes cold the entire time. The man's blood gushes like a fountain from his carotid and jugular, spraying the sand for several feet. His limbs spasm, trying to grasp his bleeding throat as he chokes on his own blood. Helgenish's eyes bulge wide with fear, zipping this way and that in feral panic, before rolling up back into his head, briefly laying upon Primrose standing above him.

"...You were a bit of a dancer yourself."

There is a gargling sound from the man as the last of his lifeblood drains from him rapidly. It is the sound of a clogged pipe bubbling with muck. Eventually, it stops. There is a final twitch of the extremities, and then the fat man falls completely still on his back.

Therion had not noticed he was holding his breath as he watched her brutally murder the man. He exhales and feels a slight dizziness almost, as his eyes scan the carnage around them. Then, he hears a low groan, and regains his senses. He turns his attention quickly to Yusufa as Primrose rushes back over. Sadiq's turban binds the dagger wound Helgenish pulled out of. The sword remains, lest she bleed out even faster. Her breaths are halting and shallow, and her blue-brown eyes look like muddy watercolor, out of focus.

"P-Prim... You're… alright?"

"...I'm here... Yusufa..." Primrose drops to her knees next to the girl and absentmindedly grasps one of her hands tenderly. Her voice is low, all the venom and bile gone. It's just quiet and timid. Therion cannot see her eyes.

"T-thank goodness… hghk, Prim... I... I'm s... sorry..." Yusufa coughs harshly, "...wanted ...to ...go with... you...unh..."

"...Yusufa..."

Therion doesn't kneel next to her. Even an untrained eye of medicine like his could see she wasn't going to last much longer. He didn't want to be here, but he can't tear himself away.

"Hey... Prim... b-back... in town... I wanted... to say... we're friends... right?" She looks up at the blank and lost expression on Primrose's face, her own eyes shining with glistening tears.

"...Yes. We..." Primrose clasps the dying girl's cold hand with both of her own, voice growing brittle, "We're friends, Yusufa..."

The dying girl smiles.

"I'm glad... hff.. not lone...ly... anymore..."

Then she surprises the thief by calling out to him. He kneels to properly hear her quiet words. He sees her other hand fumble slightly in trying to hand him the ointment he had refused earlier. Brushing against her touch, he grabs it before it rolls in the sand. His eyes are downcast, hiding most of his face in his scarf.

"Thank you... Therion..." Her eyes turn watery. The thief remains silent.

The murk in her eyes seems to clear a bit and she looks to Sadiq, "F-father..."

Primrose looks up at the old man with a start. He is staring down at Yusufa, eyes in plain shock. Their eyes... that same brown blue... But it couldn't be...

"Your touch... I... remember..." She coughs again, "Do ...ungh... you...?"

Sadiq is silent, looking down at her in bewilderment.

"You... called me... by name be...fore..." She sounds hopeful, even as the life drains out of her, "Did you... know..."

"Yusufa..." Prim hangs her head slightly. How painful it would have been if... her own father didn't even know her, and they were both in the same place all along...

"Al...ways... on your si..de, Prim... You...'re free... now..." Yusufa's breath hitches, "You were... an oasis... in this... cruel desert... to me..."

"..."

"..." A slight exhale.

"... Yusufa...?"

"..." And then... nothing.

"Yusufa...!" Primrose involuntarily cries out, unable to catch herself.

"...Tch..." Therion looks away and briskly stands, looking up and away. The sky is dotted with millions of glittering stars. In the distance, the light of Sunshade's night life washes some of the lights out of the sky.

Sadiq's trembling, bloody hand reaches to caress that cooling cheek. He slowly closes her eyes and lets out a shaky breath. A tear, briefly shimmering in his eye, runs down his own cheek and vanishes into his grizzly beard. He says nothing.

Primrose is utterly silent, head bowed, hands still clutching at Yusufa's. There is barely a tremble in her shoulders. A cool wind blows through the desert night, whipping up some of the sand around them into earthbound clouds. It is completely quiet under the stars.

"... We should bury her..." Primrose stands, her voice a bit husky, "And we need to make sure all of these men... are dead."

"Are you nuts?" Therion turns to look at her and sees her dry eyes, "Ever heard of a low profile? They're out cold, so let's just go."

"We can't risk them telling anyone. They know our faces," She takes out her bloody dagger, a familiar edge forming in her voice.

Sadiq slides the sword out of Yusufa's abdomen and tosses it aside. He gathers her body in his arms, looking both mournful and bewildered still. Therion scowls slightly, looking away as Primrose goes to check if there are survivors. That kind of thing just isn't for him. He walks over to Helgenish's corpse and reluctantly searches it to try and break even for all the trouble this night had bought. Thieving superstition ordains that one cannot take money from dead bodies that committed no harm against them. You could take their stuff, but not their wallet. In this case, however, Helgenish had tried to kill them. So the thief was going to pick this one clean.

The clothes are in shreds thanks to the crazy show of black magic. There is a small pouch of leaves and a piece of parchment in a breast pocket, still intact. He pockets the money and unfolds the small piece of paper, finding what looks to be a map. There is a location marked towards the north of the continent, in the Frostlands. At the very bottom of the page is the insignia of a crow next to some scribbled characters in some kind of shorthand, which the thief can't read.

A very bloodied Primrose plucks the map from his hands.

"Hey-"

"Up north..." She glances it over quickly, ignoring him, "That's where I need to go next."

North, over Middlesea, to the Frostlands. It seems she has a similar route to his own possibly, but he doesn't say. He just looks past her a bit to where Sadiq doffs the armor off one of the bodies, using it as a makeshift basket to shovel sand.

"So... he was..." Therion looks away a little towards the dunes.

"...I don't know," Primrose sighs and pockets the map before going to help the old man, "He lost his mind a long time ago..."

The thief stares a bit longer at the moon and stars before going to help them bury the girl. They do so quietly, quickly. Eventually, the bodies all cooled and there is a small mound of sand; the only physical mark of Yusufa left for the world to see.

The old man did not reclaim his turban, instead letting it be buried with her. He stares a bit, lost in reality. With slow, stiff movements, he goes to where he left his polearm and picks it up. As he looks at the bloodied shaft, there is some clear voice in which he speaks, like something communicating from another world.

"My... dear Yusu... fa..."

Primrose feels for the handkerchief the kind girl had given her after Lily and the other two planted that thorn in her shoes. It has a bit of blood on it, which is dry now. She clutches it to her chest.

Therion overhears her softly murmur.

"We're both free now... my friend..."

He assesses the piercing wound on his arm. The ointment probably isn't enough now. The dancer has that bad leg, and the old kook has that big cut on his back. They were also in the middle of the desert, probably without enough provisions. Not to mention that with all the blood, they'd probably be reported to the authorities at first sight.

"We need to get to a place to heal up," Therion sighs, "And I don't think anyone's in shape to climb up the rocky crags to Cobbleston."

It was probably the fatigue, but he had said "we."

"...Wellspring is close. But it's deeper in the desert," Primrose says without looking to him, "The best bet would be … Clearbrook."

Small, quaint place nestled by the rivers. Not a lot of kingdom influence or authorities. But small pockets for the picking. It is a bit of a ways out, but the Riverlands should prove more forgiving than dying of thirst out here. If they hurried, it might not take even two days.

"...I guess."

Primrose looks solemnly to Sadiq, who now looks up at the stars. His eyes are very much like Yusufa's, now that she looks at them. They shimmer with the reflections of the astral bodies.

"Sadiq? Come."

"... I remember her..."

"... You do?"

"Yes..." The old man looks down now and clutches his spear to his chest, "My child... for so long..."

"...Yes," Oh how part of her wished that maybe he wouldn't remember. For all that awaits him now is but heartache. She does not approach him, just rubbing one of her arms out of discomfort.

"Did she... dance happily there... even once..."

"...I … I think so."

"...Gods have mercy on me..." The old man covers his eyes with a hand as he sobs silently.

"...Come, Sadiq," Primrose says gently, extending a hand to the broken old man, "Tell me... all about her as we go. While your mind is clear..."

He sniffs loudly. Therion was afraid he'd let out an unrestrained cry. Instead, he strides towards them and grasps the dancer's hand with a forceful nod, his beard trembling.

"...Good. Now, we go forth."


	4. Chapter 4: River Frogs

"She was a very kind girl... I remember … little bits of it... She always wanted to make friends with the other children. I married Hilma. And Yusufa... was the only good thing to have come from that union... That woman! May venom run in those veins! She had our child sold!"

As they walk, Sadiq's momentary lapse of clarity loosened his lips a good deal. While he half cried, Primrose coaxed him to talk, relaying bits and pieces about his daughter. Therion remains largely silent, listening to them talk of reminiscence.

The dawn creeps up slowly and the green fields around them buzz with life as they awaken with the light enveloping the realm. They had wasted no time escaping the desert, and the catacombs luckily seemed to deposit them relatively close to the border of the Riverlands. Most of the time, Primrose and Sadiq relied on the thief's sense of direction. With the red markers, it was not such an arduous task of navigation. For the first in a long while, Primrose steps foot onto grass.

The Riverlands are much more forgiving than the harsh terrains of the fiery Sunlands, rocky Highlands, or predatory Woodlands. Waters here are famous for their clarity, such that they seem to look like still glass even when running. This meant much fatter, bountiful game, but also attracted monsters who flee from larger predators. The frogmen are a common sight, usually gathered in bands. They claim rivers as their own territory and attack those who venture near. Travelers usually travel during their mating season, when territorial wars among themselves is most common, providing for safer passage.

"…but you weren't there for that, were you, Sadiq."

"Aye... T' was a curse of the gods if anyone had ever been sure," He nods sadly, "I was a prize fighter among man and beast. One day had blasted fortune mine strike astray landed. I had mine mind and eyes struck, such that I wandered in the dream lands from whence. I could not tell a man from beast, nor object from creature. Tis truly a cruel trick of fate, to have had me moored in that town, so close to my daughter I could not see..."

"You fought for a living? As a prize fighter?" This explained his prowess in combat.

"Aye, and I am not ashamed, for a man does what he can to earn and provide for his home. But Hilma always disapproved," He shakes his head, "She had eyes for easier earned funds. Not all scrupulous. I had thought to quit fighting after that fateful match that had me robbed of mine senses, to find other labors. Once I was out of the picture, Hilma had reign."

Primrose remains silent, listening. She would not let a limp be seen in her gait. Therion absentmindedly would scratch a bit at his wound. Gods, it feels like it is starting to swell...

"Whilst I was incapable of right or wrong, the woman remarried... worse ilk, no doubt. For who would assent to such a plan to sell a little girl...?!" He growls under his thick whiskers, gripping his polearm, "Would that I could find them both...!"

"Let's go wash some of this blood off... and maybe cool your head a bit too, old man," Therion points to the nearby streams, "Watch out for lurking frogmen."

Primrose slowly lowers her leg into the water. The color around the puncture point is a bit greenish, with some dark veins. She barely winces and sighs, letting the gentle current wash off the maroon dried blood. She feels a heavy cloth fall over her head. After she quickly pulls it off, she sees that it's the dirtied poncho cloak Therion always wears. Sure enough, it smells of sand, blood, and whatever else he's tracked around. She turns to him, a bit annoyed.

He unwraps his scarf and unbuttons his white shirt and tosses those on her as well, showing his rather toned body, "I'll keep a watch while you wash."

"I am not anyone's servant," She hisses. Her eyes quickly look him over like a scan. His body is as she expected, wiry and able. The complexion seems to suggest he likely spent a lot of time in the sun, given the combination with his hair. There are small nicks on his skin, like grazes and scratches that left their marks permanently. The largest scar is on his torso, but it seems rather well concealed with the surrounding skin. Looking from her vantage point, she also glimpses a scar on his face, probably what his hair hides under his other eye.

"Don't think you'd be happy being caught unawares by passerby either."

She scowls and dumps his stuff in the river. It floats down the river a bit before getting caught on a rock. Now it's his turn to growl. He grudgingly goes to fetch his things, fishing them out.

"You're buying me new ones if they get lost."

She just smirks and takes out her daggers to clean. The water by the blades and lapping at her dress turns red. He looks with slight interest only at the weapons. They are the same ones with the odd make that can return after being thrown. The blade and handle are curved oddly that they wouldn't stick a landing much but could tear a nasty gash.

"It's a special kind of dagger," She sees him looking and curls her fingers, feeling the curvature of the unique blade and hilt, "A Sunland specialty. It has history as a ceremonial object the dancers in palaces of old used…"

"Huh," He averts his eyes, "Bet they don't come cheap."

"They don't... but Helgenish thought it cheaper than replacing ordinary ones that the unruly customs stole. As I was the one who used them the most, he was open to my suggestion."

As if to demonstrate her skill, she throws it with ease at a nearby shrub. It clips the top fringe of leaves before flying back around. She catches it expertly with a single, swift motion, like the retraction of a whip hand.

"That is dagger slinging."

"And this is stuff to be cleaned," He dumps his clothes on her again, much to her ire, "I told you I need to keep watch on the roads."

"I'd sooner shred these to ribbons," She says to him flatly. Her tone is not joking.

He sighs and pulls his clothes off her hands. So much for trusting her with that. Good help is impossible to find these days.

Sadiq stands nearby, waist deep in the stream, with his upper body exposed as he scoops water onto his body. Despite his age, his build shows roiled knots of pure muscle, a testament to his strength and expertise. Lighter colored scars are scattered across his body, proof of countless battles.

"... So, he just happened to decide to come with you?" Therion says quietly as he cleans his clothes himself.

"... Yes."

"You're not going to wash? I took you for a bit of a princess type."

"That's a luxury we can't afford given the schedule we're on."

They don't continue that conversation further. The old man has lapsed into a brief bout of loony songs as he scrubs himself. The wound on his back doesn't seem to bother him very much.

Primrose slowly washes her legs of the stray spattering of blood. When the cold liquid splashes on her own wound, she suppresses a slight wince. After wringing out the bottom half of her dress, she lathers water onto her exposed midriff where blood stains along her upper body. She takes out Yusufa's handkerchief, lightly soaking it before wiping down her face of makeup and stray droplets of blood. After she washes out the cloth, she sucks some water from it to moisten her dry lips and cool her throat. She had no waterskin. Therion glances at her cleaned face for a moment before focusing on the sting in his arm. From what he saw, it was almost as if she hadn't used make up.

"Clearbrook isn't far from here. Should be there by tonight..."

"Have you been there?" She glances at him from the corner of her eye as she applies some of her face back on, "You were traveling to Sunshade, that much was obvious."

"Gee, says the pale one. You were just stuck there too, weren't you."

"... Yes," Primrose thinks for a moment of something else, "... So where did you come from."

"None of your beeswax."

"Aren't you just a ball of barbed nettle," She scoffs lightly at the flat rejection.

"Hmf," He pounds the thick wool of his cloak hard with his fist, sending ripples of red into the water. It's gotten more absorbent from when Marta first gave it to him. That means the smells he's passed have gotten a bit mixed. But for whatever reason, no one in these times carried soap for him to steal, and he wasn't about to buy any.

"That!" Sadiq points at the Fool's Bangle half submerged in water, "Is a pretty bracelet!"

Therion feels the stab of that offhand comment. He angrily pounds the cloth harder in silence, ignoring the old man.

"... That's a Fool's Bangle, right?" The dancer says casually, "A mark upon spies and thieves as a show of failure and shame."

"Well aren't you a well-informed civilian."

"I suspected you were a thief when I first bumped into you."

"And I saw you for the slut you were."

That drastic escalation leaves a wide berth of silence following. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep fraying at their nerves, or the shock of carnage wearing on their sanity. They begin sniping each other verbally like children.

"Coward," She hisses.

"Whore," He shoots back.

"Fool."

He doesn't respond to that one, instead letting his frustration fester as he grinds his teeth in silence. His poncho is already mostly clean but he keeps right on pounding.

The tension can be felt hanging heavily over them amid the splashes of water and babbling of the brook. A sudden brush of a spear cleaves the space between the two, startling them. Sadiq is holding on the other end.

"What's the big deal-" Therion starts, before looking over his shoulder.

Sadiq looks past them, a look of frenzy on his features. The thief and dancer see behind them a band of frogmen some paces away. They are led by one larger frog with ropey kelp hair. Each one is outfitted with a short sword and armored greaves, red eyes fixated on the three by the river.

"_Kerrrroook..."_

The leader croaks with a low tone, his air sac inflating and deflating with the noise. It was a prelude to a battle cry.

Therion swears a bit and hastily gathers his weapon, stowing his clothes on the bank. Primrose stands beside him, cleaned daggers at the ready. Sadiq steps out of the water, spear tip bristling with energy for battle.

"Frog legs tonight!" The old man bellows.

Therion rolls his eyes, "...You're nuts."

Frogmen are less dangerous here in the Riverlands compared to their Flatlands counterparts. They are squishier and prone to being slashed open easier by swords. The leader, though, seems a bit more resistant, but it should be about the same. Without waiting for the other two to act, Therion runs forth with blinding speed, holding his sword with two hands.

Of the five frogmen, two rush at him, their own sabers raised, long tongues trailing. He feints, darting back when their strikes swing forward. Then he slams his foot on the backs of their blades, grounding them. With a quick stroke, he slams his blade down on the head of one frog. Translucent, greenish jelly spurts out along with its blood and it gives a loud, drawn-out croak of pain. Its companion moves to headbutt the thief, with its weapon jammed.

To Therion's surprise, an oscillating wave of dark magic blasts that frog away from him. He glances back slightly to see Primrose come into range. She moves pretty well granted her injury.

"Sadiq!" She calls out.

"HURRAH!" The old man rushes forward, spear jabbing past Therion, at the frog whose head he cleaved into. With a swing, he thrusts the body of the beast back at its brethren with considerable strength. It scatters the amphibious creatures and lays motionless on the road.

"_Krroooark!"_

The leader and his remaining two followers dart forward in an erratic manner. They jump leaps and bounds around, trying to encircle the three as they remain outside the reach of the spear. Their weapons are drawn, at the ready.

"Tsk..." Therion readies his sword.

Primrose traces a circle in the grass with her feet, dark energy blossoming where her toes touch. She hums a low beginning to another tune, her fingers slowly tracing the air with dark wisps trailing their touch. Like her normal dances, it is entrancing to watch. This time, instead of an area filled with enemies, the darkness gathers like snakes after a kill, slithering along the ground towards the frogs and seemingly connecting with their shadows.

"Hrah!" She slashes her hands down, crossing to her sides.

The dark energy erupts from the shadows of the creatures and buffets them from below, stopping them in their tracks.

"_KRROOAAK!"_

"Now!"

The three dash forth, each going for one of the momentarily stalled frogmen. The dancer narrowly slides past the edge of her opponent's blade. She augments the dagger she wields with dark energy, coating it so it slashes through the rubbery amphibian skin with ease as she passes. The thing's innards fly out as it is vivisected, landing with loud final croaks of distress.

Sadiq's eyes have a certain crazy light to them as he draws back the spear and suddenly lets loose a flurry of jabs at a superhuman speed. The frogman he confronts is stabbed innumerable times all over its body, blood spraying from the multitude of punctures. With a final thrust, he runs its ratty body through, where it remains motionless until he lets it slide onto the ground in a mangle of flesh.

Therion, using his two-hand technique to compensate for his bad arm, makes a move to stab at the leader frog. The damn creature blocks with its own blade, grabbing the thief's bad arm. He lets out a slight growl and kicks at the thing's belly. The frog throws him into the nearby current with an annoyed croak. He luckily avoids breaking his neck landing in the crook of the riverbed, legs sticking out of the water. Unfortunately, the big frog leaps right onto him at the next half second before he can resurface. It's not a light creature, and so its weight squishes all the breath out of him on impact, leaving him dazed. He takes a big gulp of the cold water and feels his chest burn and maybe a rib crack.

"GLUB-"

"Hang on, boy!" Sadiq charges forward and makes a wide thrashing sweep at the frog. He gets it to jump off Therion at least.

The large amphibian lands on the riverbank. The thief momentarily flails a bit in the riverbed before at least lifting his face out of the water, sputtering and coughing harshly.

Primrose rushes in at the retreating frog before it can counterattack, her blade poised with dark energy. Pain in her leg suddenly flares, and she feels sudden fatigue. Oh no. Had she ever performed so many waltzes and odes without rest? That pita from last night just evaporated into thin air. Weakness staggers her step, and the frog lunges at the opening. Her dancer reflexes manage to just allow her to avoid being disemboweled by the monster's strike.

"Ngh-!" Not quitting, she digs her nails at that slimy, cool skin, and thrusts her dagger into the red jewel-like eye.

"_KRROOAAARRK!"_

The thing lets out a roaring, pained croak, flinging her away with its flailing. She leaves her dagger lodged on its head, barely landing on her feet a few steps away. Her fingers tingle a bit, feeling strength leave her body. Dark magic has quite the drain. Shame she had forgotten that bit in the rush of recent events.

"Ugh…"

"_ROOOOOORK!"_

It cries out in a rage, and Primrose can see its muscles bulge a bit. It's just gotten madder.

"UOOOH!" Like a madman, Sadiq charges at it with his spear raised.

"Ngh…" Primrose musters the last of her drained reserves to perform an empowering dance.

Wavering as her step is, her trained self will not let her make a wrong move. The dark energies swirl once more, turning into a visage of a leonine shadow. It pounces with a soundless snarl, and envelops Sadiq momentarily. The old man's eyes light with fire and he lets out a roar with the tones of a majestic beast.

The frogman, not to be outdone, goes to meet his strike with its own empowered charge. Sadiq's expertise kicks in, and just before they would kill each other, he shifts just off to the side. The frog's blade grazes his ribs. With a sweep of the polearm, the spear tip crushes into the monster's head from the side, embodying the force of a pent-up tidal wave. The sheer force applied allows the shaft of the object with no edge to blast through the frog's head as though it were a blade made of force. Frog brain matter and flesh spatter for several feet as the body drops to the floor before Sadiq's feet.

"...ugh..." Primrose sinks slowly to her knees, now letting the fatigue wash over her. Gods, it feels like a labor even staying awake now. She looks tiredly to see Therion struggle to even haul himself out of the river. When he slides back in for about the fourth time, she staggers over to help him out. Due to both of them having no strength, he just lapses on top of her, knocking her over when he gets out. She can feel his wet body shaking a bit as he coughs, trying to regain his breath while lying on her.

Sadiq limps over a bit, holding his new wound slightly. He looks down at the two in a pile before giving a slightly goofy grin, without any sign of pain.

"Frog tonight, kids?

The two groan a bit in response. It takes a few minutes to get unjumbled. The thief finally gets some luck, feeling no actual broken ribs. But the beginnings of a nasty bruise already show in a dark, blotchy form on his chest. He wheezes a bit still as his breathing painfully improves. Sadiq happily goes off the begin butchering the frogs. Primrose limps over to the dead leader and retrieves her dagger. The eye oozes as she pulls it out.

"... We might... have to just rest for a bit..."

Therion clears his throat and fetches his wet clothes from the bank where they had been cleaning. Now there is a slow-acting burn on his bad arm. Annoyed, he sheathes his sword.

"... I'm going to make, kff, a fire."

He walks over, a bit unsteady to a patch of dirt amid the clean grass. Sitting down with a heavy thud, he scrabbles around his proximity for twigs or dry grasses and clears the dirt patch. There isn't much, and he doesn't find a lot of stones to line the fire to keep it from burning out of hand.

Primrose plods over and sits down, straining slowly. She tosses a small handful of sticks she had picked up. Therion takes those silently and makes the little teepee structure. Taking out his dagger from his sodden boot, he strikes the flat of its blade against a stone. No spark. Again. Zilch. After about five tries, he doesn't get much further than some pitiful puff of dust.

"Rrgh..."

With a fierce, low growl, he strikes the stone so hard it breaks. The little fragments of it light up like plasma as they fly and land on the tinder. Smoke ensues as a kindling flame is lit, much too small to really keep either of them warm. Primrose glimpses the blade in the thief's hand glow red hot and fade quickly.

"... You can use fire magic," She remarks lightly as she wipes her dagger clean of frog goo on the grass.

He grunts, "... If you call that magic."

Few can use even what limited degree of the elements he just showed. There are legends of how once, back when the gods and dragons lived among men, magic was abundant in the air and thick in the blood of people. Now it seems all but gone, lost to time like a fairy tale. He didn't like using whatever it was anyway, since it was always too hard to use, and too weak for any real utility. Marta's gang said it was supposed to be a sign of one chosen by Aeber, Prince of Thieves, who controlled flames. He couldn't care less, seeing as it was a chore even lighting a stove. Some blessing that is. He'll just stick with his acquired skill set.

But this one here... His eye glances at Primrose for a mere second. She is probably one of the first he's encountered able to use magic to this kind of extent of control and magnitude. Dark magic, nonetheless. That's nearly unheard of these days. He'd only heard of the powers of clerics being this powerful, but their whole spiel was with "faith" and "light" or whatever. They didn't like to call it magic, whatever it was they used.

Sadiq walks over to the two silently brooding by the mini flame. He has the butchered legs of a frog, thigh and all. Needless to say, his lower body is covered in the amphibian's blood. But he doesn't seem to mind one bit.

"Gotta get some food in those bellies!"

Primrose sighs, "That's a bit big for a tiny fire... Here, I'll cut it up..."

She cleans her dagger on the grass, mentally cursing a bit when her hand trembles from weakness. When Sadiq brings the meat over, she begins to cut that rubbery skin open, separating it from the muscle. It has a slightly rank odor from its slimy byproduct, but the clean waters here certainly help from making it smell worse. In general, the wildlife in the Riverlands are well kept by the pristine nature, allowing for cleaner smells and tastes. These frogmen were obviously not starving. The leg alone seems to be over half of Primrose's height, and very meaty.

After she's cut off a sliver, she spears it with her knife before holding it over the flame, which has grown a bit thanks to Therion sheltering it from any wind. When the meat begins to curl, she holds it up to Sadiq.

"Here. This was your idea, after all."

He chomps down on it, "Ah, hot! Taste like chicken!"

Doesn't seem toxic then. She makes another cut with the blade and cooks it the same way. When it cooks, it lets out a bit of its swampy smell. But her growling stomach was not picky. Once she blew on the cooked game a few times, she eats it tentatively. She then hands Therion the leg to carve his own piece.

He makes a bit of a face when he takes it. Hunger was indeed coming onto him. This would teach him for only having stolen some fruit and a candy, and drunk ale on an empty stomach. He cuts off a slab of the thigh and uses his sword to skewer it over the flame. As his piece slowly cooks, he realizes he's cut it too big and would take forever to cook.

He could just hear Heathcoate gloating at him all over again...

"_You should have seen it coming... and that makes me grateful for your lack of foresight..."_

It conflicts with another voice in his head. Darius.

"_Always take the biggest share for yourself. Never know who else's going to want it otherwise."_

If he could just sock them both on the face for good...

In his deep thought, his bad arm falters a bit and nearly drops the meat onto the flame. Sadiq, with reflexes of a cat, catches the slab before it can squash the small fire. The meat, which was cooking, sizzles against his hand.

"S-Sadiq, don't do that!" Primrose yelps, a bit alarmed.

Therion quickly uses both his blades to take the thing off the old man's hand. Sadiq's palm is now blistering and red from the juices sizzling from the flame.

"But we finally got a fire!" The pain does not seem to faze the old man and he looks blankly to Prim like a confused child, who sighs exasperatedly, "Plus, that's a waste of good meat."

"... Just go cool your hand in the river..."

"Aye, lady!" He bounces off towards the river.

Therion stares a bit as the old man goes before refocusing on his steak, "...That guy is some kind of monster."

"He saved you from that frog."

He ignores that quip. After his arm gets tired, he gives up and hacks off the perimeter, which is fully cooked, discarding the raw part. He wolfs down the dry meat and realizes he never refilled his waterskin.

"..."

Sadiq seems to be enjoying another shower session in the river, whistling something completely off-tune as he washes off the frog blood. Prim glances to him distantly, then up to the sky. They had dallied enough that soon it would be near dusk. She'd packed so sparingly to travel quickly. She has only her weapons of multiple throwing daggers, the Azelhart house dagger, and a pouch with a sandal strap replacement. There's also some leaves in the pouch and, of course, Yusufa's handkerchief and the map from Helgenish. She had wholly neglected water or food.

There is no vision better than hindsight. She sighs and lays down on her side in the grass and mutters tiredly, "...There's not as much monsters in the day... so we should move later after we rest..."

Her voice drifts off slowly as the tire from the enchanting dances takes their toll. Her hand lightly, tiredly, fingers where the necklace covers the mark on her chest.

Therion looks to the side, glancing at the roads. It's not a bad idea. The crazy old man would probably also be awake. Wait, was he seriously trusting his naptime safety to the crazy one?

After he finishes chewing the tough meat, he goes upstream of where Sadiq is in the water and drinks sparingly from the river. They didn't have vessels to boil their water after all. Then he props his clothing up as best he can with his sword and sheath so that it can dry by the measly fire. He sits, just watching the day slog on in the slowest time ever, even more than a stake out. His head nods slightly. Damn, he hadn't slept since he left Bolderfall, which feels like forever now. Ten minutes. That's all it will take. Just close your eyes for... ten... min...

"...zzz..."

…

_Not again..._

"Come on, mate!" Darius grins cockily as he runs ahead with the bag of loot, long red-orange hair trailing.

"You shouldn't shout so loudly, you know..." Therion has a rather smug grin nonetheless as he follows nimbly, "We're still in their playground."

"Oh, it's _our_ playground now!"

They run past the dim and dingy cobbled streets. There is no hope here to find, only what one makes of it. That was how they lived as thieves. The rich criminal family of Ciannos never scared him once, not with Darius having his back.

"Cheers!"

They clunk their tankards together in the bar, enjoying their spoils. Darius chugs his down heartily before hollering for another. Therion only lightly sips his.

"You gotta stay sharp, partner. Maybe take it a bit slow. And then we'd have more coin left too."

"Aw, shaddap, Therion! I... I'm as sharp as they get, mate!"

It was probably those times Therion should have seen it. He knew how people revealed their true selves, their darkest secrets, when they were drunk. Darius was always a bit angrier with a bit to drink. He'd cuss Therion out and hate to take his suggestions.

And yet, the white-haired thief never saw that fateful day coming.

"I got a gig in the high up Cliftlands. Ciannos are planning a large caravan delivery, I heard."

He'd come to Therion, a bit more somber than usual. But he had the most exhilarated smirk on his face.

"Let's go."

The Cliftlands were a new experience for him then, a mountainous terrain full of high drops, strong, whispering winds, and perilous outcrops of rocks. They are just a tint darker than Darius' hair. It had grown quite long since they'd met four years ago. Darius liked it because it made him look like a powerful lion.

"Should be somewhere by that overpass..." Darius hands Therion his spyglass. They both stand several hundred feet high on one of the higher plateau cliffs, overlooking the trails to Bolderfall. Below, there are small glimmers from the river that runs through the canyon.

Therion takes the glass and looks through it. What he sees is Darius' sneering face. Suddenly, he's on the ground, Darius' blade digging into his shoulder. The pain is fresh as ever. Darius's boot is stomped on his other arm, and one hand presses on his diaphragm with all his body weight. He gasps a bit in pain, trying to look the other in the eye.

"D-Darius... Why-?!"

"_You're a naïve fool mate..."_

The ground under him gives away as that cackling of triumphant laughter fills his ears like a roar. He can't grab at anything to stop his free fall. Darius fades away from view, getting smaller and smaller, as Therion goes down, down, down from the cliff's edge.

He still had no idea how he survived. He remembered smacking his head on a rock and blacking out. After that, it was just very, very cold. Maybe he fell in the river by Aeber's luck. It was a miracle no monsters just nabbed him then either. The whole time he was in that dark place, he was sure he was dead.

"_You shouldn'a trusted anyone, Therion..."_

Weren't we partners? Allies? Brothers? Therion never had a brother. He was always usually alone, even in Marta's gang. Grew up on the streets an orphan, doomed to die if he didn't get his hands dirty. Jailed several times... Darius was the same. That's probably why he believed and trusted him. They were two peas in a pod, watching each other's backs.

But he shouldn't have believed.

That's why he won't trust this deceptive woman. Or this crazy old man…

Other than that, nothing else mattered… Maybe there should have been something to replace that void Darius left in him. He had tried to fill it with hate for the man, but those memories remained, lingering at the beginning of all his thoughts. It was annoying beyond belief, to be reliving how allured he was time and time again; how he fell for Darius' small words of praise, only to lose it all.

So, he just hates the world now. Hate those damn snot nosed rich nobles who look down from their mountains of wealth. He'll steal it all out from under them. Hells, he'll steal from anyone, man, woman or child. Hate that damn Heathcoate. Who did he think he was anyway? The way he moved back there in the manor… he wasn't an ordinary butler. Hate this stupid bangle that marks him a failure. Last of all, hate that damn Ravus woman… for looking at him with such sad and pitiful eyes, like he was a sick puppy.

He wants to just scream with the rage bursting. The nightmare grows in volume and intensity, barraging his brain with so many images, images of his failure then, and his failures now. The urge to scream rises to unbearable heights, consuming him like a flame.

"GH-!"

His eye flashes open. He sees the starry night sky. A cool wind passes over and he feels wet still. It's sweat. He's drenched in cold sweat. A coil of smoke rises to the stars. The fire's out. In his hand is a fistful of grass, ripped out from the ground beside him.

He didn't remember lying down, so he sits up and checks his clothes to see if they are dried. Almost immediately, he gets a lightheaded feeling in his head. He wants to vomit. Was it the frog? Or a fever? He glances at his wounded arm, which isn't getting any better.

He hears a murmur beside him. The dancer is curled up next to him, facing away. Her body quivers and twitches, and he hears little murmurs as she sleeps, accented by slight gasps. Was she just having an erotic dream?

"No… f-fa…ther…."

…Maybe not.

The night chill makes him sneeze. Despite how damp his clothes still are, he hastily dons his white shirt. He's about to put on the heavy poncho.

"…"

He ends up tossing his poncho over Primrose and just making do with his scarf. She stirs slightly, grabbing onto the cloth unconsciously. Looking around a bit, Therion sees Sadiq sitting down in the grass nearer the roads. The old man is still half naked, his back towards the two. The frog's blood is washed off. His legs are crossed with his spear balanced across. He seems to be looking up at the stars and talking to himself in an indistinct voice of gibberish.

Therion tries massaging his head a bit to quell the headache. His forehead feels very warm. Crap, a fever. Just great.

He shifts to see if he can stand and is shocked at how clumsy and weak his movements are. He ends up settling back on the grass in frustration. Now he's heavily reconsidering his choice not to take a sleeping bag with him. A hand goes to the straps of his boot, and his fingers go to touch and feel for the hidden amulet of protection he's carried with him.

"… You can sleep, Therion."

He looks up with surprise at Sadiq's gashed back. The old man does not turn. His beard sways in the wind. He sounds lucid for now.

"I will watch the roads."

"…"

For a moment, he wanted to believe that.

"You sure about that, old man…" Therion smirks a bit, "Even when I'm sick, I can see better, I'll bet…"

"…There," Sadiq points up at the starry map of the sky, at a small bluish light in the galaxy backdrop, "That is the star of Yusuf. I named my Yusufa after that star…"

"… uh huh." The thief did not have much ear for frivolous banter as the dancer did.

"Is it not beautiful… Why could you not see it… Hilma…" The old man's voice falls to a slight whisper, "_You_ are beautiful… my Yusufa…"

Therion decides he'd rather chance sleeping normally than be lulled to sleep by a drippy boring story. He lets Sadiq watch.


	5. Chapter 5: The Apothecary

The next morning was probably close to one of the worst in either the thief or dancer's life. Imagine waking up with a fever, head cold, stiff limbs, all dirty, with no breakfast waiting. Needless to say, the two were cranky, with a case of sniffles and sore throats.

"Gods… Who threw this ratty thing on me…" Primrose tosses the poncho back at the thief, who receives it with a scowl. That'll teach him for caring.

"We overslept… and got no rest," He growls irritably and stands, barely wobbling, going to wash his face in the river.

"It seems we did…" Primrose stretches, as part of her dancer routine to remain limber. She checks her reflection on her dagger and frowns when she realizes she never cleaned her face after the fight yesterday with the frogs. Her face is smudged with a bit of grass juice on her cheeks. When she stands, she feels a slight stab from the leg wound. Peering at it, she sees it might be festering. Pursing her lips in annoyance, she still maintains a steady gait to the river beside Therion.

The thief sees her slip her leg into the river again as she cleans her knife. Then she checks her reflection on the blade again. Frowning, she stows her blade and splashes water on her face, washing off the marks of the scuffle from yesterday. His initial instincts were not wrong. Her attractive features were not diminished by the bad night of sleep, notes the thief. Regardless, he silently finishes gargling some water while she dries her face as best she can.

"We still have quite some road to cover."

"…Mm."

"You should have packed better clothes," Therion slips into his comfortable poncho, "I think you've caught a chill."

"Even if I did, do not throw that ratty thing on me," She sighs, "It has a bit of a smell on it."

_Should've known better than to do anything nice. Well, she didn't say "stink" exactly._

"Lady, we just happen to be going the same way. If you drop, I'm leaving you."

"You don't look all that well yourself."

Therion rolls his eyes. He looks over to Sadiq, who is still sitting where he had been last night. The thief walks over to the old man, only to discover him snoring.

"… Stupid old man…" Therion mutters and roughly shakes his shoulder, "Hey wake up."

"Mmmrm…" He drools.

Therion sighs, "Gods…"

He grunts a bit as he pulls the old man up by an arm and leans him on his back. Half carrying Sadiq, Therion begins walking down the road.

"H-hey!" Primrose scrambles a bit from where she sat to catch up when she sees them leaving her.

"Not waiting, princess."

"…" She scoffs a bit as she walks alongside him from a slight distance, "I'm surprised you didn't just start walking without picking him up."

"He's helped me more than you have."

Primrose makes a sharp sound of discontentment on the side. Icy silence settles, with the occasional cough or sneeze breaking it.

Primrose takes this time to look around a bit. Ten years. Most of it she had spent in Sunshade, within the ever-looming shadow of the desert mountains that daylight could only pierce, never dispel. Ten years she had spent working in the shadows of society. She had never been to Clearbrook, but she remembered the small trip she and her father once took to the Riverlands here. She couldn't tell if much had changed, since that was so long ago. The rivers still seem so pristine, and the nature so green and immaculately full of vibrant life.

Therion couldn't care too much about the scenery, no matter how serene and peaceful it might appear. Those crazy frog creatures roam this place, not to mention poisonous wasps and large snails. The wasps could chase and sting a man to death with their brood. The snails would usually spray victims with some somniferous goo that rendered them unconscious. Then the snail would be free to engulf and digest in peace. The Riverlands were not a kid-friendly place at all.

As the midday sun came to rise to its zenith, the dancer and thief begin feeling the full brunt of weakness, being wounded and sick. Sadiq snores along quite contentedly. Therion pants and heaves a bit, pointing to a rock under some tree shade.

"Let's just… rest there for a second…"

Primrose wordlessly agrees. Under the shade, they both slump down, feeling utterly wiped out. At least they were dry now. But they still felt a chill.

"Mm… aahh…" Sadiq stretches where he had been lain on the grass, "Oh, good morning!"

"It's noon, you old kook…" Therion sighs and lightly loosens his scarf as he coughs harshly.

Primrose leans against the trunk of the tree, catching her breath. Her mouth was very dry, but she didn't want to have to go fetch from the river again.

"Sadiq… get me some water…"

"Mm, right away, Miss Prim!" Like a trooper, the old man jogs to the stream.

"…You put him under some enchantment, didn't you…" Magic that manipulated the mind is incredibly rare as the arcane seemed to fade from their world with passing years. But Therion had heard of master thieves who could manipulate others into giving them the goods, and then making it seem like they had never met.

"… Not really."

She acts so calm about it and her words betray nothing. But Therion wasn't about to trust any of that. It was just a perfectly formed mask.

Sadiq comes back to them after a few seconds, drenched in water and smiling widely.

"Nothin' like a good bath!"

"Sadiq, I asked for water…" Primrose sighs tiredly.

"I know! Suck on my beard!"

Therion spits and cannot manage to suppress a loud laugh. Primrose throws him a searing glare, but he's turned away from her.

"Din't have no flask, an' my hands 're bound to spill! So I got water in my beard!" Sadiq proudly announces, like he's a genius.

"F-forget it…" Primrose covers her face slightly with a hand, waving Sadiq off with the other. Gods, this is not helping her splitting headache, "Let's just keep going…"

She tries to stand, and nearly stumbles, needing to grab the tree for support. The world whirls a bit around her. What little she ate flops in her stomach. Still grabbing hold on the tree, she vomits, missing Therion by mere inches. The thief jumps off his butt in alarm as the dancer empties her stomach.

"G- You crazy woman!"

"Ugh…" Primrose wipes her mouth with the back of her hand when she finishes, "Oh shut up…"

He makes a sound of disapproval with his teeth before striding back onto the road, pushing past the chill and headache pounding in his head. Primrose leans on Sadiq and they both follow, resuming their slow and painful walk.

Over a small wooden bridge, Therion sees a fisherman minding his own business as he faces the river, peacefully dangling a lure. His fingers hover near the man's bag, eager to pilfer, when Primrose suddenly coughs. The fisherman turns to see the ragtag trio. Therion quickly hides his hand.

"Oh, why… hello there, travelers," The man runs a hand through his honey hair, "By the Flame, you look like you could use a cleric…"

"… Are we close to Clearbrook?" Primrose asks a bit brusquely.

"Aye," The man seems to have taken little note of her tone as he points ahead to another bridge, to a path by some woodland and a small mountain range, "Past the Twin Falls there. Careful of the monsters there, 'specially the salamanders."

Ah, salamanders. One would take them for slow dullards, given how they bask in the rivers, waiting for prey stupid enough to swim into their gaping mouths. But they were actually quite the fast hitters, able to ram a man down with ease due to their size. It nearly landed a thief in the hospice. They hit like a jab from a spear.

"Thanks…"

Primrose waves slightly to the man as they pass. Therion sees the fisher reel back his lure and digs around in the bag he had been about to steal from. The fisherman takes out a worm and re-baits the lure before casting. A sigh of slight relief escapes the thief's lips, nearly imperceptible.

The three trudge over the bridge. Below, the waters are clear enough to reveal something rather large and camouflaged among the riverbed. It is a giant salamander. Therion avoids looking at the thing as they cross. A low series of clicking sounds can be heard as their steps make precarious creaks on the bridge wood. But nothing so drastic like the structure collapsing happens, and the thief thanks the stars for some luck at last.

"Past Twin Falls hm…"

The cave system is known for having costed an entire expedition's worth of people once. He recalls that from some tavern banter he overheard. Supposedly, while spelunking for treasure, the exploration team never returned. No one is sure what exactly lies within the cavern, though there have been reports of people feeling numb or sleepy by the cave opening. No one's stupid enough to try going in.

After what feels like forever down the paved path, they luckily didn't run into any more frogmen directly. There was one small trio they nearly ran afoul of, but they ducked near some river weeds and laid low until they passed. But then the stay ended up quite prolonged when another band marched by and they seemed to belligerently debate with each other before the larger group passed on at last. The smaller band then passed as well. By then, Therion and Primrose both wheezed a bit from the fatigue and holding in all their symptoms.

"…I hate the Riverlands."

Luckily, the bridge to Clearbrook was not too far after that close shave. They enter the limits of the quaint little town. The air feels clean here, and the atmosphere is ultimately tranquil with green grasses and trees by the sparkling clear water. A peasant-looking girl with a silver halberd stands just before the fences start. She is the watch woman.

"Hello there, weary travelers," She nods slightly to the trio, "I'm guessing you're here for the two town healers, by the looks of it."

"… Yes," Therion coughs slightly and just gazes a bit blearily at the small houses surrounded by glistening nature.

"It's just past the tavern. You won't miss the sign on the door."

The dancer and thief nod wearily and just enter, Primrose still leaning on Sadiq mostly. Most people turn heads at the strangers. Despite Therion's normally trained movements to stay unnoticed, his feverish coughs did not help, nor did standing by such an exposed woman. People stare a few moments as she passes before trying to focus back on what they were doing. It was not easy, as the image of her seductive movements remains well in their heads. Therion was glad that he wouldn't have to be traveling with her any longer after this.

They pass the small fenced gardens of herbs around the quaint little houses of wood and the tavern. Therion takes a small glance through the windows of the small, one-story building. There's barely anyone inside. Small towns like this one probably have everyone busy in the fields at this hour until it gets a bit later.

The building in question is nearly passed by Therion, as he does not read the sign on the door, which reads "Apothecary." Primrose stops Sadiq before it and tries the door, opening it with ease. She peers in tentatively and sees a rather snug and humble interior, with a strong smell of medicine. A man with short brown hair seems to be sitting at the bedside of the only bed visible. He wears a green vest over simple clothes. Primrose clears her throat a bit and that gets his attention. He stands promptly, dusting himself off a bit.

"Oh, hello! Can I help you?"

Primrose coughs a bit, "You're the town apothecary right… We … need some medicine."

"Ah, come in, come in!" He opens the door fully and ushers them in after a mere glance at the dancer. He sees Therion lingering around outside the door and gestures to him, "You seem to have a fever too. Come now."

The thief reluctantly walks in. Primrose sits down at the bed while he just stands with Sadiq, no matter how much he wanted to just sit on the floor. He looks around as the supposed apothecary goes to a small table with a plethora of dried plants and other weird things hanging from a rack on the wall. Not all of it even seemed plant-like. One looks like the dried innards of a boar maybe. It's a snug house, with only one bed, probably for patients in the day and the apothecary at night. There is some evidence of someone else living here, as a neglected doll in a corner of the house suggests. A younger sibling maybe.

Therion was not the biggest fan of healers. In these trying times, healing and cures were both extremely limited. People were not always trained correctly in the arts and many would die from wrongly mixed tinctures. This is not helped by the many kinds of folk medicine that vary from town to town, resulting in a jumble of solutions that could send people to their graves.

Magical healing is a bit more trustworthy since it pretty much has a monopoly source. You also can't go wrong with light magic. It just worked. But the Church wasn't everywhere, and not every bishop was a good one. Therion was lucky when he was found by one of those traveling missionaries in Bolderfall; a young cleric who had nursed him back from near-death for free. He'd heard sob stories from those who had to pay an arm and leg to get a cleric to heal their loved ones.

Traditional medicine men like this guy were no better, and probably worse. There are a lot of snake oil salesmen these days, who just take your money and throw you some gnat piss mixed with addlewort or something. But these apothecaries were the only ones known who could combat diseases and toxins, which magic always had issues with. The general rule of thumb is "magic for flesh wounds, medicine for disease and swoons." Therion never heard an explanation as to why exactly, but it's what keeps these guys in business.

"Alright, from the looks of it, you both have quite a nasty fever. I hope you weren't traveling with it. Only makes it worse," The apothecary gets to grinding some things with a mortar and pestle, "Name's Zeph by the way. I should have some anti-flammant ready in a jiffy…"

"Thank you…" Primrose coughs lightly into her hand, "Uhm… my leg also… and Sadiq here. He has some cuts on him…"

"Ah, first the fever tho-"

The door suddenly slams open and a young man with dirty blonde hair bursts in. The front of his head has a tuft of hair while the back has a small ponytail. He wears the same green vest and similar simple clothes as Zeph, and both have similar looking satchels. Clamped between his grinning teeth is a small blade of grass.

"Heya Zeph!" He shouts loudly in greeting.

"Ah, Alf!"

"Hm?" This Alf person looks to the trio of patients, before yammering on and walking to Zeph's side, "Ah, sick travelers? What's the situation? Snake bite? Numbness? Whoopin' cough?"

He glances to the thief and dancer cheerily. They look back with faces of melancholy, but he doesn't seem to care or notice. "Don't worry, we'll have you back on your feet in no time! Oh, I'm Alfyn by the way!"

His patients merely give a tired nod. He looks back to Zeph.

"How was Melody and her grandpa?"

"Awh, ya know. Same old same old. The coot just refuses to stop it with that pipe of his! Worries the heck outta Melody!"

"Well, the joke is it was either that or his wife...!"

"...Wow, Zeph, that's _dark_."

"Ehehe... whoops."

The two apothecaries banter meaninglessly as they do whatever it is apothecaries do at the table, observes the thief. Prim sighs and lies down on her side atop the bed, closing her eyes for a few. She shivers slightly. Sadiq sits down on the floor and examines the tip of his spear.

Alfyn looks to the trio after a minute or so of concocting and hands the thief and dancer a small wooden cup of something that looks like dark green liquid. "Drink up!"

Primrose sits up and accepts her cup. She sniffs it gingerly before needing to fight the urge to hurl again. Therion doesn't bother smelling it.

"...So, what is it."

"Classic fever tonic. Flamegrout, rawst extract and plenty of wheatgrass and kale essence! Best on an empty stomach!"

Primrose takes a sip. It is extremely bitter, with a pungent aftertaste. Her face screws up a bit. But she goes right on drinking it, fighting the disgust and gag reflex. When she gets to the bottom, the bitter plant material pools and makes it carry an even more earthy taste. The nausea passes quickly once it is all down, however.

"Ah, boy those are some nasty wounds ya got!" Alfyn remarks as he looks Sadiq and Prim over.

He looks to Therion too, with scrutiny that makes the thief squirm. With a somewhat gentle action, his calloused hand brushes on the hair covering the thief's temple, where the skin had split. Therion stifles a shiver from the touch as Alfyn examines him, "Ya got a small knick that needs to be treated too! Wait just a second. My balm'll be up and ready before ya know it!"

As the ball of energy goes back to the table while Therion chokes down the rest of his tonic. The door swings open and a woman with dark hair in a flowy white blouse steps in. She glances at the travelers before looking back to the apothecaries. Her gaze lingered a bit on Primrose.

"Ah, hey Zeph, Alf... hope I'm not interrupting anything..."

"Sure, Meryl," Zeph steps away to let Alfyn hog the table, "What's up?"

"I think I may have found a new kind of weed by the river. But I'll need one of you to look at it."

"Sure. You got things under control here, right, Alf?"

"Yep! Go on ahead, Zeph." Alfyn does not take his eyes off his work for a moment.

Zeph and Meryl leave Alfyn with the three strangers. Therion finally finishes his tonic. He resists the urge to touch where the apothecary had inspected him. It itches. But other than that, the guy must have given them a miracle brew or something. The cough has subsided, and the chills lessened. But now, he feels the need to sleep.

"Alright, here we go..." Alfyn walks over with a mortar filled with some pale schmear, "It should reduce the inflammation and prevent further infections. Gaborra evergreen can be a bit dangerous eaten, but the antipyretic quality helps when applied to skin too!"

"I'll apply it myself," Therion says quickly.

"Well, be careful with that, since too much tends to cause a bit of a rash..."

"... Never mind," Therion grumbles.

"Uhh, so, you gents mind waitin' outside? Oh, unless ya don't mind the whole privacy thing, ma'am," Alfyn looks to Primrose for her reply.

Primrose just sighs. She had gotten used to being exposed by men. But if they were offering it this time, maybe she'll indulge herself in this fantastical privacy for once. She sits up and waves dismissively in Sadiq and Therion's direction.

Before Therion can say anything, Sadiq's on his feet and curls his arm around the young man's.

"Let's go, ol' sonny boy!" With a jolly laugh, he starts dragging the thief out with him.

"W-hey! I can walk-" Therion tosses his empty cup to Alfyn, who catches it. Then the thief and old man are out the door.

"Ok, now let's get a look-see..." Alfyn produces a coil of bandages and kneels to get a more level look at the wound on the leg. He winces, "Yeesh, this thing's festerin' a bit already."

"Ah. Well, I … we'd been walking a bit with some sand."

"Oh the Sunlands down south? Yeah, I can tell this ain't too well washed. Well, no worries. Uhh, didja step in anything funny at all? Might need to put an extra balm for that."

"Human and frog blood."

"Ohh, I get it. Ya ran into those annoyin' froggen, eh? Yeah, they've gotten a lot more aggressive lately, says ol' lady Ulinor. But," He chuckles as he lightly dabs at the wound with some of the concoction, "She thinks a lotta things were more peaceful back then."

"I see," Primrose gazes a bit expectantly at him as he works. Soon, she thought.

"Exactly what pierced the skin by the way? Gotta know if it was poisonous. Though from the looks of it, could just be the pus and infection..."

"Ah, it was a … thorn. From the firespike cactus of the desert."

"Oh wow. I heard those grow down south, yep. Never seen 'em meself. Don't think they're poisonous, but I do think they can cause quite the swell..." He glances up at her, "Did ya step on a cactus or something?"

"N-no. Someone planted it and I rested my leg there..." He is surprisingly innocent, she realizes.

"Oh, shucks. Sorry t' hear that. The evergreen should help with the swelling though, so no worries!" He grins to her reassuringly, "So, what brings you guys around here to Clearbrook?"

"We're... on our way to the Frostlands." He's an oddball for sure. His attitude is so genuine that she actually doesn't mind telling him this stuff.

"Oh boy, the Frostlands. Good thing you're getting this checked out now. 'Else the cold could set in and give ya gangrene!" He bandages her foot gently with some of the ointment smeared on the wraps as well, "Ok, that's that... better keep off that leg, okay? Anything else by the way? Oh, say, you're looking a lot better from that fever already!"

"Oh? Thank you...That was certainly a quick cure." She feels the lightheaded feeling go away.

"Hehe, but it's liable to come back if ya don't rest and eat well y'know! And those are the best medicines! Along with laughter of course! In fact, ya wanna hear a joke?" He gets up from kneeling.

"Uh... not... really..." Was he flirting or just being quite dense?

"Oh, well, tell me if ya change your mind. So, anywhere else you're hurt?"

"No. I was wondering actually how to repay you, Alfyn, was it?" She looks up at him slowly, allowing the seductive factor to build. It should be now. He will ask for payment...

"Don't worry about some coin!" He flashes that disarming smile and goes back to the table, "I'm just glad I could help!"

He must be playing a game. Not to be outwitted, Primrose stands and limps over slightly to him. The pain in her leg is already lessened. While his back is turned, she leans on him, her perky bosoms pressing against his shoulder blades. She breathes a bit into his ear.

"E-Eh?" He yelps with a slight start, "M-ma'am, ya should rest that leg!"

"Oh, sorry. I was taking you to mean you didn't want any _coin_ as payment. So how about something else..."

"Something... else?"

"Yes," She tries to catch his eyes with her own from the side.

There is a slight movement of his eyes. Is that consideration? Mischief?

"I got it!" He turns to her, "You guys'll stay over at my place!"

"...Huh?" She stares a bit now at that odd reaction.

"I mean it! You're gonna stay off that leg and rest up! That'll be the 'something else!'" His smile is genuine and shows he's completely serious. The dancer is quite taken aback.

"...I..."

"No buts! Now you go sit down and I'll call in the other two!" Despite the command, his tone is more caring than it is forceful.

"...I think I saw a bench outside."

"Huh? Ya can sit on the bed, ya know..."

"It's fine, it's fine..."

They both walk to the door. Outside, the thief and old man are just sitting on the bench to the side of the doorway. The two men look to see the dancer exit, and Alfyn's head poke out cheerily.

"Next!"

Therion stays put for a second, expecting Sadiq to go next. The old man ends up pushing him up and out of his seat, practically throwing him at the apothecary as Primrose takes his seat on the bench with a sigh. The thief and apothecary disappear back inside the house and the dancer relaxes a bit, letting the medicines do their work. It had been a long ten years, meeting men of all kinds. She thought she had the other sex completely figured out by now. Yet, the apothecary had surprised her.

...

"Gadzooks, what's up with your arm!?" Alfyn exclaims when he gets an eye of the thief's arm wound.

"Don't touch me...!" Therion pulls his wounded limb away reflexively, "Tsk..."

"Eh, but I'm gonna need to apply the ointment. And that looks worse than the knick I saw earlier!"

"... I mean, don't..." The thief sighs irritably, "Don't touch me when I haven't said you can."

"Oh... well, shucks, sorry..."

This idiot sounded so genuinely apologetic that Therion blurts, "It wasn't your fault you didn't know, so don't worry about it."

"Did you get stabbed by a cactus too?"

"...No," So the dancer was stupid enough to step on a cactus? The thief fancies the thought of that in his head, "It was a monster. A big bug."

"Like the river wasps here? They're pretty big."

"... didn't fly. And I'm pretty sure it's bigger," Therion pauses to scratch his head a bit absentmindedly.

"Ah, hey!" Alfyn goes to stay his hand, "Don't scratch that knick!"

Therion resists the urge to slap him away after he was touching him without permission again.

_I guess at least he cares._

Once the thief puts his arm down, Alfyn takes his concoction and goes to apply it to the skin near the temple.

"... Aw, shucks, I touched ya, didn't I..." He brushes aside some of the white hair to reveal the scabbed wound, "Sorry 'bout that. But ya shouldn't scratch even small wounds or they could get infected ya know?

"... It's... whatever..." Therion mutters.

Alfyn sticks a small adhesive on the temple and looks to where the thief hides his arm under his poncho. He points to the hidden arm.

"...So, can I treat that now?"

Therion sighs and reluctantly shows his arm to the apothecary again. The bleeding has stopped, but it now oozes cloudy liquid and has yellowed skin around the entry wound. Alfyn winces.

"Ooh... well, good news is it doesn't look poisoned... Bad news is I think it needs a drain."

"A what?"

"The pus needs to be drained."

"... How?" Therion looks to the other man skeptically.

"Well, we just prick the pus sac and squeeze it all out."

_The gods fucking hate me._

Alfyn looks at the bangle curiously. "Can ya take that off?"

"No."

"Oh. Well it shouldn't make too much of a difference. Ok, this is gonna be the first time I drain an abscess!"

Therion feels his stomach drop, "_First time_?"

"Yeah, not too common an issue around here anymore, big ones anyway. But I've seen Zeph's old man do it plenty back in his day!"

Like hells he was going to let this psycho apothecary cut him open. But before the thief can make a mad dash for the door, Alfyn already has a small knife out. His smile does not make Therion relax at all.

"Trust me! Ya won't feel a thing!"

All Primrose and Sadiq heard outside was some loud scuffling, an indistinct yelp, and a thud. A few minutes later, a very grouchy-looking Therion comes out with a bandaged arm concealing his bangle. Alfyn pops out after him. One of his nostrils is plugged with a piece of bloody gauze. Despite that, he gives that same friendly smile.

"Next?"

…

Alfyn's actual house is much smaller than his operating office, which he explains is actually Zeph's place where he lives with his little sister, Nina. Clearbrook is divided by a clear running river. Alfyn lives on the other side.

"I go over and help out, since we were both studying together under his father and all. He passed just a coupla years ago..." Alfyn rubs the back of his head a bit as they walk down the dirt road to his house.

"You are very skilled, Alfyn... my leg feels better and my fever is pretty much gone," Primrose looks to his face, "Is your nose still bleeding?"

"Eh, it's alright. I got them all the time as a kid roughhousin' around!"

"I hope you apologized enough," Primrose says offhandedly at the thief on the side. He just rolls his eye and grunts.

"It's okay, really! Oh, here we are!"

They stop before the simple home. It is situated a bit from the town center, and seems a bit more disheveled than the other village huts. Alfyn opens the door and bids his guests enter. "Home sweet home!"

Inside is a singular room. There are two windows, one at the front and one at the back of the house. A threadbare sheet is tossed and unmade on the single bed. There is a jumble of books in one corner of the house, under a wall of drying herbs. A small, simple table with two chairs is under the window to the back. There is also an empty wooden basin and a trodden carpet. Looking out the back window, one can see a small herb garden. There is a dusty fireplace with a small wood-framed portrait. The only other piece of real furniture in the house is a simple cabinet on the side of the door, next to the study pile.

"Oh, how nice," Primrose walks in, eyes surveying, "You live here alone, Alfyn?"

"Ehe, yeah... for the past year now. Ma died pretty recently..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry..."

Therion goes to look at the portrait. It depicts a young boy, probably Alfyn, and a woman, probably his mother. She has honey colored hair. The thief's eye sweeps over the rest of the room. There isn't a chest or anything that outright screams valuables. Knowing this guy, the most valuable thing here would be those herbs, which the thief has little use for. Even that cabinet looks to yield little promise. From the slightly ajar door flap, he glimpses a cauldron maybe. Worthless.

"Look, snakes!" Sadiq points excitedly at some stringy herb hanging on the wall.

"Ahaha, no, not snakes. It's noxroot. That's the longest one I ever found too! Been making antidotes out of it for nearly a week now and I still got that whole length left!"

"So, how're we all going to squish onto that bed of yours," Therion points at the small bed.

"Oh, I can take the floor," Alfyn points to the carpet, "And... you guys can take the bed!"

Therion rolls his eyes. The bed doesn't seem large enough for even two, and he wants the three of them to sleep there? He sits down on the floor. "I'm fine here."

"Eh, so I guess we'll be floor buddies!" The apothecary hops over and sits next to him, much to his annoyance.

Primrose sits on the bed and feels the coarse fabric. It's an old bed for sure, but it's regularly cleaned enough that it isn't flea-ridden.

"...Sadiq will be joining you on the floor."

The old man doesn't seem to mind or care, looking about the small house like it's a wonderland. Therion shoots the dancer a glance but she doesn't catch his look.

"Say, why don't we all go get a drink if you're all settled in, eh? The tavern keeper's a real nice guy!" Alfyn grins, looping an arm behind Therion.

"That sounds nice, doesn't it," Primrose stretches, "You boys can head out. I think I will take the apothecaries orders and rest a little."

"We can bring ya back some drinks! Clearbrook's got some great spirits!"

Therion glances at the old man, "Is he coming along then."

"It's his choice," Primrose shrugs and lies down, facing away from them.

"Spirits!" Sadiq jumps up and down like an excited child.

"Hehe, guess that's a yes!" Alfyn stands, pulling Therion with him, "Let's go, guys! Rest well, er, ma'am!"

"Primrose," Prim says without moving.

"Nice name! And ya still didn't give me yours!" Alfyn looks to the thief under his arm.

Therion grits his teeth a bit and relents, "...Therion."

"Great! Off we go. C'mon!" On the way out, Alfyn grabs Sadiq too, "The door's unlocked, okay, Prim?"

He already has a nickname for her. She sighs and just gives a small grunt of approval. She hears the door slam and the apothecary's loud voice lingers as they walk away down the road from the house. Eventually, quiet settles, and she curls on the bed slightly under the thin cover. A slight wisp and crackle of dark energy zips in and out of existence near her as she tries to rest.

"So, you guys like to drink?" Alfyn inquires of his two companions.

Therion grunts. Sadiq gives a loony smile of no understanding.

The three walk back over the bridge to the tavern Therion had peered into. It remains rather empty despite the sun slowly crawling towards the horizon. Soon it would be dusk. The tavern keeper looks up at their arrival. The young man smiles under his mustache warmly.

"Alfyn, my favorite customer."

"Heya, Figgs! Gimme an ale! And I'll be payin' for these two newcomers!" Alfyn lugs Sadiq and Therion over onto the empty bar stools.

Figgs chuckles, "You realize _I_ still owe you for that bunion cream, right? You haven't let me try and pay you at all."

"Hey, hey! I said it was fine!" Alfyn waves his hand dismissively.

"Well, take it on the house anyway," The tavern keeper sighs with a knowing smile and pushes over three tankards of foaming alcohol. His eyes glance over the foreigners quickly before he turns to look down at the spigots he's cleaning.

"Hehe, thanks Figgs!" Alfyn takes a hearty swig before slapping Therion on the back, "C'mon! Ya must be thirsty!"

Therion jolts a bit from the slap. He hadn't thought an apothecary to have that much strength. Then again, this was the same guy who wrestled him to the ground and cut his arm open. There's not another soul here to hear gossip from. Therion sips his drink without too much amusement. Drinks are just about all the same, whether in the cabaret or in the hamlets. Nothing special. Just something useful if you want to get drunk, which he wasn't looking to do.

Sadiq seems to take Alfyn up on some challenge because the two of them start chugging the ale like mad, finishing their large containers in about three seconds. Figgs blinks a bit before quickly giving them a refill.

"Ahh! Always better drinkin' with buddies, ya know!" Alfyn grins and bumps tankards with Therion and Sadiq, spilling slightly.

"Mm! Delicious soup!" Sadiq chuckles.

"Haha, that ain't soup!"

While Sadiq amuses Alfyn, Therion looks to the tavern keeper. Mustering up some effort, he tries to get some work done.

"Say… Figgs, right?"

"Hm? Yes."

"You hear anything about… odd stones in the area or something?"

He had completely given up pursuing this subject with anyone in Sunshade. Too much women and drink addled their brains a long time ago. All they cared about was … stuff Therion didn't need right now. Without a lead still, he is quite a ways from getting the damn bangle off.

"Stones? You mean like… gems?"

"Maybe. Whatcha got on the wind?"

"Nothing much here. Last time anything ever happened with rocks here… some mine up in the Cliftlands was depositing gold into the rivers and panners from all over the realm were all over this place like flies to dung. I'll say, that was back in my old man's younger days."

"Huh. Nothing nowadays?"

"No. You looking for something?"

Therion drops the subject and takes a sip from his ale. Best to just leave it lest he seem suspicious. It seems unlikely this little place would have the dragonstones anyway. Figgs frowns slightly at the sudden quietness in the man, then shrugs and resumes his bartending. Alfyn just finishes his joke to Sadiq about the wasp and frog.

"…and he says 'That really stings!'"

Both the apothecary and old man erupt into a roaring bout of laughter. It is their third round by now. The thief rolls his eyes a bit as he speaks on the side to Figgs.

"Never a dull moment in this town with him around, I'll bet."

"You've got that right, stranger," Figgs chuckles, "Even as a young rapscallion, he always kept the town on its toes."

"Hey, why ya gotta bring that up, Figgs?" Alfyn catches onto the conversation, "Ain't I a big help 'round town these days?!"

"Yes, you are. Sometimes we wonder how well you're taking care of yourself with your mother gone and all those discounts you-"

"Aw, c'mon!" Alfyn gives a goofy grin as he chugs down another ale, "I just see people in a bind, and I gotta help out!"

Figgs smiles again, "We're lucky to have you, Alf."

"Aw, shucks…"

Therion stared at his ale the whole time over the rather corny exchange. This guy's face is better than Primrose's if it's a mask. It's too good to be true, that saviors like this exist, isn't it? But that woman's face comes to mind whenever he has lost all faith in humanity. That kind, soft smile was the first thing he saw waking up in Bolderfall…

"So, how long did that woman tell you we were staying?" Therion grunts slightly. He wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that damn dancer had promised the apothecary they'd be staying longer in this hamlet to recuperate as payment. But it is easy payment at least.

"Well, I reckon you guys'll be back up and at it in a day or two! Until then, ya oughta take it easy a bit ok?"

Those damn stones are out there somewhere, and he's just stuck here. Well, there's nothing stopping him from bolting this place. But it _is_ free lodging. And this guy seems nicer than any prison warden the thief had met. Therion nods a bit before drinking.

"So, where' you headed? Prim mentioned the Frostlands."

"… North. And no, we're not traveling together."

"Eh, but you guys-"

"It was pure coincidence. We are not traveling together," Therion repeats to get his point across before finishing his first drink.

"Oh. Well, ya had me fooled…!" Alfyn laughs obliviously, "So you guys goin' to the religious ceremony or whatnot up there in the cold place?"

"Not really."

"Err…" Alfyn seems to think a moment. Sadiq beside him seems to have lapsed into a narcoleptic nap on the bar counter.

"Don't worry about it," Therion pushes his empty tankard away, "I'm just looking for something… or someone."

"Someone?"

"A really good locksmith."

"Eh, really? There's a whole bunch in Bolderfall, I hear, and that ain't too far from 'ere!"

Therion lightly scratches at his bandaged arm where the bangle is concealed. Of course, he could look for the veteran lockpicks in the old gang! Like hells. For a thief to show off that bangle even to ask for help… that's just a disgrace to their honor as stealthy workers. He'd need to find someone that wasn't in the profession… but given that the best lockpicks are thieves, that was super unlikely. Otherwise, why was he even on this stupid goose chase?

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Wait, so are you looking for someone, or something, exactly?" Alfyn looks to the thief, thoroughly confused, "Cuz you mentioned somethin' about stones?"

"… something," Therion rolls eye. This idiot was listening after all. He receives the refill from Figgs wordlessly, curling his hand comfortably around the grip of the tankard.

"... So, what's the something?"

What an inquisitive guy. If Therion weren't a thief, he'd love to be able to just ask questions like this idiot. No need to dart around the bush or sit for hours listening. Just ask and you shall receive. Not to mention how frank and … well, innocent this guy seems just made it comfortable talking to him. He reminds the thief a bit of that Yusufa girl actually, only less shy. But Therion is not that kind of people person, even if he could put on an act.

"Stones."

"Oh, but what kind? There's like, a lot of 'em… and some of them are even medicinal! Ya ever hear of the dragon's kidney stones?"

Therion nearly spits out his drink. Kidney stones. Really. Well, that sapphire dragonstone he saw back at the manor was… or so he hoped, certainly no kidney stone. He didn't know much about dragons though, like whether they passed gems as kidney stones. Gods, what stupid thoughts this guy is putting in his head!

"Never got my hands on any, but accordin' to the old books, they're real nifty for curin' a buncha things! From dysentery, to black fever-"

"That's great, that's great," Therion cuts off that vein of discussion before it can get too disgusting, "And, no. I don't think that's what I'm looking for. They're called dragonstones, not … kidney stones."

"Gee, never heard of that…"

"Riight, but you'd know all about their kidney stones and toenails and drool and whatnot…"

"Oh, do I! Well, sorta. I heard more about their scales than toenails. But their drool is a pretty potent potion ingredient to induce fevers and chills!" He eagerly produces a thick and worn tome from his bag, filled with clusters of pages sticking out from marked content, "Lemme see… Aha! See-"

"It's fine, it's fine…!" Therion pushes off the book enthusiastically shoved his way. Yep, this guy is a know-nothing on the issue, "I'll just keep looking…"

"Well, good luck, I guess… Ah, hey, Figgs, mind settin' us up with some dinner?" Alfyn pulls out a small worn pouch, "And we should probably take some back for Prim too. Ya don't look like ya ate much on the road."

Therion glances at the apothecary. The coin pouch can't be holding much more than a few leaves. This guy's clothes, on a second glance, are probably being worn every day, from how thin and frayed they're getting. And he's not taking a penny from them, and not even from these other people he's treating in this backwater place?

"…I'll pay for my own," Therion dumps a few leaves on the counter.

"Hey, apothecary's orders! You're my patients!" Alfyn grins to him, "It's no big deal!"

"Look, you… you're a nice guy, but you're poor as it is, ok," Therion says those last few words quickly and with a slight scowl, "So just let me do it."

Alfyn stares at him for a few long seconds, looking a bit stunned. Then his friendly smile returns and he loops an arm around the back of Therion's neck.

"Hehe, you're not still hung up on bloodying my nose a bit earlier, are ya?"

"Ugh… I have no qualms in giving you another one, just saying. Just take my money for now, ok…?!" Therion sighs irritably. This is why he doesn't like helping people.

"Alright, alright. Thanks, bud."

Therion sips his ale. Bud. Mate. Partner. Had he not learned his lesson?

Figgs receives the leaves with a small laugh, "How's about some fresh brook trout? Magg caught it just this morning."

"Oh, I got some herbs that'll totally go well with those!" Alfyn puts the book away and starts rummaging through his bag again.

"Uhm, no more medicinal plants please," Figgs gives a bit of a weak smile, "I know it's healthy, but it doesn't quite hold up in the taste category…"

"Just give it to us the normal way," Therion waves the tavern keeper off and goes to stay Alfyn's hand as he pulls out dried plant matter, "I've had enough medicine for a day."

"Aw, fine. I'll have you eat some with your oats tomorrow then!" Alfyn grins.

Figgs mentally sighs in relief and glances at Sadiq passed out on the counter. The old man is chuckling in his sleep, speaking in gibberish.

"Is he alright?"

Therion sips his ale nonchalantly, "Yeah, he's always like that."

…

I shouldn't have performed that last dance.

There is an unbearable pain at my chest. It feels like something is driving a needle straight into my body with the brunt of a behemoth. Despite the agony, I can't scream. Darkness constricts me like restraining tendrils so that not a sound comes out.

"_Primrose..."_

Father...

"_Come, again!"_

I feel a hard push against me. Father stands, stern faced, sword in hand. My own blade is heavy, and my body is dragging itself to its feet. This is where we would practice sparring, in the yard of the estate in Noblecourt. Father looks a bit different. His eyes are darkened, and his words seem to slur slightly. The whole vision is a bit wavy, like an image in the desert heat.

"_Come... Rose..."_

His mouth opens like a dark cavern to swallow me. I cannot scream. I feel the darkness wash over me and drag me deeper under. That door we opened that day will never be closed again...

"_In accordance with the rites of darkness..."_

Standing before the gate is a single woman with red eyes. Eyes like mine...

"_The shadows be our faith, ever present and unshaking, lurking out of sight..."_

Father. You stood by me the whole time. And you watched...

"_Even when the blade is held at our breast, this faith shall be our shield."_

It's that pain again, only now I can cry out. Cry out like I did nearly eighteen years ago. The finger of darkness leaves its mark on my skin, and I clutch at the otherworldly stain. Out, out you damn spot... My nails only scratch my own skin raw.

"_You have to be strong … as the heiress of Azelhart."_

Heiress... of nothing. You'd probably cry at what your little Primrose has become, father.

"_Dance. Dance and rejoice, for thou art worthy to receive it, the title of the Azelhart house…"_

It meant nothing to me. I only wanted to see you happy and proud of me, father…

"_Bear it upon thyself, the shield of our faith. Dark as night, silent as shadow…"_

I have to believe in… what? What is there left to believe in? I have faith only in my ability to kill those men. And even then… I rely on my power of allure to have others carry the burden for me. Is that all I have left to believe in? My seduction? This dark enthrallment?

I'm standing before that flickering fire again. My father stands at my side. He places a hand on my shoulder. I look up from the fireplace to the portrait of my… mother… I can't see her face… It's dark… I look and see father's face obscured by blackness, with peering red eyes. I run. This happened before. Eighteen years ago… but what… what happened? Why can't I… None of this is coherent… can't… understand…

"_Understand this, Prim,"_ My father's voice follows me as I run, unrelenting, _"Everything we have as Azelharts… we fought for."_

"_Our lives, faith, power, prestige… Nothing in this world is truly free."_

Shackles spring from the engulfing darkness and grasp at my wrists. My chest burns and my screams come out strangled.

"_Princess Garnet…"_

Simeon?

"_She had been entrusted with the cruel fate… of bearing a monstrous power in herself."_

Simeon… Simeon!

…

"Prim?!"

The dancer's eyes flash open with a gasp. She stops struggling against the apothecary and the thief's hands grasping her wrists. Her eyes are wide, and strands of her hair stick to her face from the cold sweat induced by what can be assumed to be a nightmare. Slowly, she seems to be getting lucid.

"Prim?" Alfyn says again, worry on his features, "Are you-"

"Let… go…" She seethes through gritted teeth at the two restraining her.

"Uh- S-sorry…" Alfyn lets go of her wrist. Therion follows suit, a rather disapproving look on his face. The dancer takes little notice of him.

"You were, uh, shouting in your sleep, and … your chest…" Alfyn points. The dancer's chest area has raw red scratches peeking out from under the necklace. Her nails have her skin and some blood underneath, "H-here, let me look at it…"

_Nothing in this world is truly free._

She bats his hand away with a slight snarl. The bracelets adorning her arms jingle lightly as her arm trembles. Alfyn flinches slightly at the slap, and at those red eyes.

"P-Prim?"

Therion moves to plant himself slightly between the dancer and apothecary.

"…There is … nothing free in this world…" She mutters in a low, growling voice, "So don't LIE to me!"

"W-what? Is your fever back up?" Alfyn forces himself to look her in the eye, "Prim, we just got back and ya weren't sleepin' soundly, so we got worried…"

"…Hey, you're not back at that disgusting place anymore," Therion speaks up, "So wake the hells up and stop being difficult."

Primrose shakes her head a bit and places a hand to still her mind. "Kh…"

"Uhm… let's just get some sleep eh, guys?" Alfyn quips a bit nervously, "Prim, we also got you some fish from the tavern-"

The dancer jumps out of bed with a graceful leap, landing near the door. She doesn't look back at them as she opens the way out to the night air.

"… I'm going out for some air…"

Without waiting for a response, she walks outside.

"… Tsk," Therion scowls on the side once she's left, "What a bi-"

Alfyn runs out.

"Wh-HEY!" Therion runs out after him. Sadiq is left on the carpet, murmuring sweet gibberish from his rosy dreams.

...

The dancer walks briskly. Dark magic tingles at the tips of her toes and fingers, begging to be used again. The drain leaves her hypersensitive. She hears the sound of the idiot running after her from behind. With a single bound, her legs wreathe in dark energy and she propels herself away with leaps and bounds like a panther. She can still hear it faintly though, him calling her name.

When she had awoke, she felt that pain on her chest still. It beats with her heart, like a nagging pulse. His hands, one was on her wrist, to stop her from scratching. The other was on her breasts.

Did he mean it? Maybe not. He had seemed so nice and frank.

Had she overreacted then? No… she mustn't open up so easily after all, just after a small easing talk or two. Those ancient voices from beyond the hearth say it still.

_Nothing in this world is truly free_.

She runs through the cool night without direction or guidance from the moon, dark magic trailing her every bounding step. It pours out of her mindlessly, willing her to run on and on. At the edge of the small town, the magic abruptly stops, having run dry, sending her careening onto the ground.

"Ugh…!" She picks herself up and sees a bit of blood seeping from the bandaged leg, "…"

In the dark, her eyes seem to resemble fiery lights. Darkness does not hinder her vision when the magic makes her sensitive like this. It helps when needing to run in dark places without a lantern giving yourself away. However, her expression, despite the intimidating eyes, is rather lost like that of a child.

There is a sudden shriek from down the road out of town that jolts her out of her momentary daze. It is followed by cries for help that get weaker and weaker. It sounds to be from a woman.

Prim cautiously draws her curved dagger, walking closer. The noise comes from behind some tipped wagon and spilled barrels.

"H-hel—AHHH!"

With the slightest of urgency, Prim darts to see the situation. Immediately, revulsion leaps up from within when her eyes lay upon the scene.

The watch woman from earlier lays prostrated on the ground, clothes torn off to reveal her flesh. Her chest is smushed on the ground whilst her rear is pointed upwards. A large frogman is humped on her from behind, holding her down in forced coitus. A second one stands before her, holding her wrists down. Her cries are weak as the act is happening, hands grasping for the silver halberd jammed in the dirt a few feet too far away.

"He…lp…" The girl's face is red and puffy from crying.

Cold fury bursts forth from the shadows.

"Kroak?"

Primrose drives the dagger deep in between the eyes of the frogman inserted in the girl, pushing it backward. It flails and croaks madly as she tries to break its skull open, pulling off the girl. The second frogman draws his knife and moves to stab her side while her rage is focused on its companion.

A sword misses its snout as it sails past its face, landing in the dirt. The frog stops in its tracks and turns to see the pursuant thief leap upon it. Therion swears a bit under his breath. Moonlight is not the best light to aim under. And that sword was not meant for throwing. He'd also never admit he missed. Behind him, Alfyn pants as he tries to catch up to the thief's pace. The frogman sees them coming and tries to collect the rape victim and flee.

"No you don't…!" Therion growls as he moves with a burst of strength, drawing his dagger and slashing at the thing's throat. Frog blood sprays onto him.

It gives a garbled noise as it tries to croak, its throat sac ruptured. Therion sends it sprawling with a stab to its gut and a kick. On the ground, it twitches, making no more noise. He turns to peer at the noise of flesh being obliterated by a knife. In the dim light the moon provides, he can only see the silhouette of the dancer emerge, no second frogman. Her eyes are glowing a slight red in the dark, but it fades quickly. Alfyn finally catches up.

"W-whew… what was that?" He glances around, trying to see the situation in the poor lighting. His voice raises in alarm when he sees the dimly lit form of the girl on the floor, "Gods, Fiona!"

"We need to get her moved."

Alfyn gathers the naked, shivering girl in his arms. "We need to get to Zeph's. It's closer."

The other two nod. Under the cover of darkness, they flank the apothecary as they run back towards the center of Clearbrook. Little was said. Alfyn keeps his voice low as he whispers reassurances to the girl, who sounds delirious.

At the doorstep of the house, Alfyn pounds the door and yells out, not caring if he wakes the neighborhood, "ZEPH! ZEPH!"

There is a shuffle of feet and the door unlocks. The tired face of Zeph pokes out, illuminated by a candle in its holder in his hand.

"Alf? What…" He sees the blood and Fiona, "Crivens, what-"

"I think it was those river frogs…" Alfyn pushes past Zeph with little resistance into the house. The dancer and thief follow. Zeph closes the door behind them and they all step into the treatment area, where a little girl is slowly being rudely awakened on the bed.

"What happened, Alf…"

"I-I couldn't see, exactly…"

Therion glances at the dancer, whose bloodied clothes and body are exposed in the candlelight. She seems reluctant but speaks. Her voice is taut like a string about to snap.

"They… were deflowering her…"

Zeph and Alfyn both pale.

The little girl on the bed yawns and rubs her eyes. "Mmn… Zeph?"

"A-Ah, Nina…" Zeph nervously smiles, "S-sorry for waking you, um, can you …"

He looks to the bloody thief and dancer, at a loss of what to do.

"Oh, Alfyn's here! And… Fiona?" The little girl points to the dancer and thief, "Who're you?"

Alfyn tries to keep the urgency out of his voice, "Hey, Nina, we need to use the bed for an emergency ok? Do you mind waiting outside with my friends?"

"Those two with all the red paint on them?"

"Yes, paint…" Zeph sighs.

"Okay!" The child trots over and looks to the two bloody figures, "Hi, I'm Nina!"

Primrose clears her throat, "Ah, hello Nina…"

Therion grunts and steps out. Primrose and Nina follow after, leaving the apothecaries to try and help the traumatized girl. The dancer, thief, and child come out to the cool night air. Therion sits on the bench with a tired motion. The immediate area around the house is lit with light coming from inside. Nina gazes up at the night sky.

"Wow… so many stars! I always hafta go t' bed too early to see all of 'em!"

"… Yes…" Primrose gazes up where the child points, "…Do you know any constellations?"

"Yeah! Like that! That's Draefendi's bow!" The little girl points excitedly at a pattern in the sky.

"Ah, so it is… that's very smart of you, Nina…"

"Mm! Me an' Alfyn both have birthdays around the day of her feast! Zeph's birthday is in the month of Dohter!"

"I see…" Primrose manages a small smile. It vanishes promptly when there is a slight scream from inside the house.

"… It could have been worse."

Therion's words make her abruptly aware of his presence there. He doesn't look her in the eye as he folds his arms over his chest, slouching against the building wall behind.

"…If you hadn't run into them… who knows where she'd be."

Primrose takes the comment silently.

"What was wrong with Fiona?" Nina looks to the two of them innocently, "Is she sick? Zeph says she's always watching over the town…"

"… She'll get better," Therion closes his eye.

…

Fiona eventually cries herself to sleep, blubbering about the frogs and moaning apologies to her deceased father. The greatest injuries were not on her body, but in her soul after all. Alfyn looks troubled as he drapes the sheet over her. Zeph sighs, rubbing his tired eyes.

"We should tell her uncle Fredger in the morning…" Zeph rubs his eye, though out of a sort of different fatigue, "For now, let her sleep…"

"Yeah… sorry about this, Zeph."

"It's no biggie, Alf," Zeph pats his shoulder reassuringly, "You saved her from whatever those slimy bastards would have done to her…"

Alfyn nods slightly and bids his best friend good night as he steps out. The three outside turn to look at him.

"How's Fiona, Alfyn?" Nina looks to him with curiosity and worry.

"She'll be fine… get some sleep, ok, Nina?" Alfyn gives a tired smile as he pats the little girl's head softly.

"Ok! And then we can play tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure, haha…"

The girl gives him a brief hug at his waist before going back inside her house.

Primrose lets out a slight sigh of relief once the child is behind closed doors. Therion remains where he is, silent. Alfyn lets out a brief sigh and looks to the two of them now.

"… Ah, Prim, your leg… Let's go back to my place and we'll fix it up."

They begin the walk back, awkward silence thick. It is a quiet night. Once back in the house, Alfyn lights a lamp by the bedside and goes to fetch some herbs from his work station. Therion goes and lies down on a corner. Sadiq has remained undisturbed during their absence. But he is now sleep-sitting in his usual pretzel-leg position. Prim sits on the bed quietly as Alfyn approaches with new bandages.

"I'll see if I can't getchur clothes washed up tomorrow. 'S a bit late right now to go to the watering hole…"

"It's fine…" Primrose sighs, collecting a stray strand of hair behind her ear, voice low, "Alfyn, I'm… sorry for having run off like that earlier in such a mindless manner…"

"Ah, that's fine…" He kneels and keeps his voice low too as he goes to clean the wound and change the bandages, "I should be sorry too… Therion told me about where ya worked afore… an' I guess ya didn't have that good an experience with the whole touch thing…"

Primrose blinks, surprised. Her eye rests on the thief on the floor, faced away. She can't tell whether to be surprised he bothered speaking on her behalf… or mad he just tells this apothecary those things. Who knows how accurate his account is even?

He chuckles softly and gives an apologetic smile with a slight blush, "I, uh, didn't even realize where I was touchin,' grabbin' yer arm... Sorry 'bout that..."

"… I see," She lowers her gaze to the man knelt working before her. For a moment, her mind drifts back to Yusufa, when she had given her the handkerchief. The dancer had gotten so defensive when the girl was baring her heart to her in earnest...

_Nothing in this world is truly-_

_No._

_Nothi-_

_Shut up. You're wrong._

Wasn't it that same kind of thinking that made her push Yusufa away? Constantly being mad at others because of the past … Yusufa had reached out to her for real. And this guy... He's probably the same. How could she have forgotten that? For now, the dark voices ebb at her call to silence them, reluctantly retreating into their niches.

"…For the record, though, Alfyn… I was just a bit disoriented from a nightmare. I'm generally ok with touching…" She murmurs so only the two of them should be able to hear. She couldn't trust the thief to be asleep.

"Oh, gotcha. Not sure how to really wake someone up peacefully from night terrors…"

"It's fine. I should thank you for stopping me from scratching my heart out," A small smile dances on her lips.

"Shucks, it wasn't nothin'. Therion helped," Alfyn grins slightly as he wraps the cleaned wound, "Y'were murmurin' somethin' for a … 'smeon?'"

She waves that thought away, "It was just a bit of delirium."

He nods and finishes bandaging, "…Alright, good as new! Now don't go running around like that again! I'm serious!"

Primrose chuckles slightly, "Yes… thank you, Alfyn. This time I won't."

"Ya mind if I look at that too?" Alfyn points at her chest again, which is still rather red, "Looks painful."

"… I don't mind…" She reaches behind and unclasps the necklace. As the weight of the jewelry lifts off the sensitive, raw skin, it itches and tingles.

"Yeowch…" He takes a small lobe of some plant and presses its cut side, which is wet, on her red skin. She flinches at the initial moist sensation, then slowly relaxes as it soothes the itch and pain.

"Does your necklace irritate your skin?"

"No… not that I know of…"

"Well alright… huh? What's that?" He pauses as he's cleaning the area and points, "Is that a wound?"

"Huh?" She hurriedly takes out her dagger and looks where he points with the blade's reflection. There, where her special birthmark is, seems to be an extension. The mark seems to be bigger, with something like a line extending from it, making it look like a crack on her skin. It's not so big that it is very noticeable. Likely it didn't wipe off, which is why Alfyn noticed.

"…It's fine. I'll just cover it with the necklace."

"Uhh, you sure? Was that what you were scratching earlier?" Alfyn squints at it closely, "… looks like a rose bud…"

"It's just a tattoo," She fibs hastily, "It was probably just irritated. I'll be fine."

"Well, I treated the red scratches, so I'll take your word for it…," He puts away the plant now, "But you better tell me if it acts up again!"

"I will, Alfyn," Primrose chuckles, "Now go get some sleep, mister apothecary. You need it after having taken care of everyone tonight."

"Hehe, sweet dreams, Prim."

The young man goes and lays down next to Therion after putting down his satchel. Primrose runs a hand absentmindedly over the mark on her chest for a few seconds. She then blows out the lamp next to the bed and lays down to sleep. But her mind now had new unease.

_Did it spread because I was using it more these last few days…?_


	6. Chapter 6: Frogs And Snakes

The next morning was rather painful, seeing uncle Fredger try to calm his traumatized niece. She repeatedly asked for her halberd in her hysterical cries, but no one knew where it was. Everyone had an inkling of what she wanted to do with it though.

"Cold… and slimy… they're touching me, I still feel them!" She screams, tears leaking from her puffy, red eyes. Her voice is hoarse from all the crying and screeching. Zeph and Nina don't seem to have gotten a wink of sleep, probably from her night terrors under their roof.

Alfyn stands nearby in the room. He had insisted that he go see Fiona early in the morning. He'd gotten up before the crack of dawn to go to the watering hole and fill the wash basin. After his guests were awake, he told them where he'd be and where to find his washing rack to get the blood out of their clothes a bit. He promised them breakfast and a nice bath later in the day after he returned. He didn't exactly feel uncomfortable standing there. There was no where else he was as needed as here right now.

Alfyn steps forward, looking rather torn over the whole situation, "Fiona…"

"Nina, why don't you go out and play? Lily should be waiting for you…" Zeph looks to the little girl.

"Mm…" Nina rubs her eyes and walks out of the house with a slight totter.

"Cut it off, cut it off!" The girl thrashes against her uncle trying to calm her down. Her hands are clenched tight and her breath is quickened, having in her chest. Her wild eyes flit from one place to the next, as though expecting something horrific to come for her.

"Darling, it's over, the thing is dead!" Fredger's brow creases with worry as he grasps her shoulders, "It can't hurt you anymore!"

"I still feel … it's _inside me _still!" She shrieks and bawls, nails digging into her uncle's arms, "Oh_ gods WHY_?!"

"We might have to sedate her..." Zeph murmurs.

Fredger nods sadly. With a single prick of slumberthorn, the girl slowly eases into listlessness. She fitfully whispers apologies and rues as her eyes close and her struggles stop. Fredger sighs as he lays her back down in bed gently.

"... That won't stop the nightmares though..." Alfyn looks over the sleeping girl, "Damn those froggen..."

"Ulinor is right that they are bolder now. The last time they ever organized to raid the village was when I was but a whelp after all," Fredger runs a hand through his graying hair, "Gods, why did this have to befall her... I _knew_ I should never have let her try to follow in my brother's steps of being the village watch guard..."

"Just take her home, Fred," Zeph nods slightly, "Let her rest and call us when she wakes up ok?"

"Thank you both. Alfyn," Fredger looks to the apothecary, "Zeph tells me you were the one that found her. Thank the gods you did."

"Ehe...Shucks," Alfyn gives a weak smile, "I just wish I got there faster... when I saw her, the froggen were already dead."

Fredger nods as he lightly brushes the sleeping girl's bangs, "I extend my thanks to those who slaughtered those beasts. Would that I could find their accursed nest and finish them all off...!"

"Now, now, Fred, you focus on makin' sure she's comfortable," Alfyn pats his shoulder, "And we should probably tell the mayor about this... don't want anyone else gettin' in trouble at this rate..."

"I'll make sure she's well in bed and I'll go talk to Henry about it..." Fredger sighs as he goes to collect a swaddled Fiona in his arms, "Thanks again to you both."

Alfyn stays in the room when Fredger takes Fiona back to his own house, waving a bit to the man as he departs. He then looks to the sleep-deprived Zeph, who sits down heavily on the unmade bed.

"Ya look like hell, Zeph."

The other apothecary lets out a weak laugh, "I sure feel like hell, Alf... But I can't blame her. It was a hell of a thing t' happen... If... If anything like that happened to Nina, I'd..."

"Hey, don't go there, Zeph," Alfyn says with the slightest of warning tone, "No way that's gonna happen with ya around, so don't get upset over nothin.'"

Zeph sighs heavily, "Her mind ain't put together no more. It's all scattered now..."

"Yeah. But if she's alive, she'll heal maybe..."

It always bothered Alfyn how hard and different it was to heal a heart in comparison to the body. With illness, you could cure it away with the proper tincture. But people's minds were just different. No remedy ingested made you forget your sorrows forever. He knew drink was often thought to be that answer. But he knew from experience it wasn't.

So, he got into the habit of looking to the bright side and sharing that. People tend to smile more if you did, and he was luckily optimistic by nature. Otherwise, he'd have to fake it. For now, curing the body was all he could do. But so long as they were alive, he hoped that the heart would heal with time too.

"I'll take the rest of the day, Zeph. Ya can get some shut-eye."

"I'll just..." Zeph yawns deeply, "Take a quick nap..."

"Hehe, take as long as ya need."

"I can't jus' leave the town to you, Alf..." Zeph's voice drawls as he begins to drift off, "Ya goof..."

Alfyn chuckles and walks on back to his house. Along the way, he makes sure to drop by Melody's place to check on her grandpa, as well as his other patients. When he finally gets back to his house, he sees Therion standing outside, leaned against the wall. He grins and waves as he approaches. The thief is without his scarf and cloak at the moment.

"Ya waited outside the whole time?"

"It wasn't for you," Therion sighs, "Just keeping an eye for frogs."

"Hehe, well 'preciate it."

"You were gone a while. I was about to send the search party for you," Therion looks up at the sky reaching high noon.

"Ah yeah, sorry about that. I had t' go check up on my other patients. Zeph's all tuckered out from Fiona."

"... You really are too nice..." Therion mumbles under his breath.

"Whazzat?" Alfyn blinks.

"... Nothing," The thief pulls off the wall and walks back inside the house. Alfyn follows obliviously.

Inside, Primrose is reading one of Alfyn's books with Sadiq, it seems.

"Mugwort, used like pomegranate..." Sadiq mumbles like a child learning their letters as he points at the book's pages.

"Ah, Alfyn. Welcome back," Primrose looks to him, "How was the girl?"

"She's sleeping now," Alfyn sighs, "Whole experience did a real number on her..."

"Yes, that poor thing..." Primrose scowls slightly, "I'd never heard of the frogmen being so... disgusting."

"Well, they're animals," Therion walks over to the window looking out to the herb garden, "They seem to be acting up a lot now. Might be an off-mating season."

Primrose makes a slight face. Alfyn moves to change the conversation topic.

"So, y'all washed up your clothes?"

"Yes. His is still drying," Primrose points at the thief.

"Alright, I'll just fix us up some breakfast then!"

He goes and opens the cabinet, pulling out a big black cauldron. Heaving it a bit awkwardly, he goes to exit.

"Just gotta fill this with water!"

"Alfyn, don't hurt yourself carrying that...!"

At Prim's gesture, Sadiq goes and hefts up the other end of the black kitchenware.

"Oh, thanks, Sadiq!" Alfyn grins, "We'll be back from the watering hole in a sec!"

"Be careful, you two..." Prim smiles softly as she watches them go from the window. She then returns the book to the pile in the corner of the house. Things are still rather quiet between her and the thief. It takes a few moments before she breaks the ice.

"... Thanks."

"What for."

"For what you said last night at the apothecary's. It..." Primrose curls a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "It helped. A lot."

"... It was the truth," He shrugs, still looking out and away, "If you hadn't run off, we never would've found her."

"... Where are you going after this."

He wipes his nose a bit and snorts, "Probably not where you're going."

"Hm."

"You should get a change of clothes if you're serious about going north. That garb won't cut it if you're looking to survive in the Frostlands."

"I don't mind the cold so much."

"Says the one sneezing and coughing their bottoms off from that fever."

She scoffs, "You were no better."

"Well, I'm not the one going up to the Frostlands."

"Then pray tell where a thief like you is headed."

He had no real answer. His initial idea was just north, to the Woodlands. But now, on the issue of information, perhaps the Flatlands was a better option. Atlasdam, the cradle of eggheads, might be promising. But he didn't feel the need to share that.

"Somewhere to get answers."

"... It's got to do with that chain you carry around, doesn't it?" She stretches lightly to test her healing leg, "How's your arm by the way?"

Therion grunts. The swelling had gone down. Alfyn said he'd need to change the wrappings again later today and make sure the pus doesn't regather. He could at least use the arm without the stinging now, but it still remained irksome. The bandages hide his bangle from sight, but it still looked conspicuous.

"About as good as your leg."

"... Maybe you can use that ointment Yusufa gave you."

"Maybe."

Another lapse of silence.

"...That was some pretty freaking weird magic you use."

"It's just shadow attribute magic," She says offhandedly as she seems to check her nails. They no longer have the glossiness to show her reflection, having worn off the polish applied what seemed ages ago.

"Not a lotta that kind of magic still floating around," Therion now looks at her from the corner of his eye, "'Heard it's got something to do with blood."

"...Maybe," Prim blinks slowly before looking to catch the thief's gaze, "What about you and that bangle? It's not the most common method of punishment anymore. What antiquated warlord did you fail to rob?"

He makes a 'tsk' sound and looks away. His unchained hand unconsciously goes to pull at the bangle clasped under those wrappings. Damn that Heathcoate...

They fall into another silent spell. At last, after what felt like an awkward eternity, Alfyn and Sadiq return with the cauldron of water. The apothecary gets to working on the fire in the fireplace before hanging the large vessel over it to boil. Into it, he adds a pinch of this, a lump of that, and a dash of something. Soon, as the mix boils, it smells absolutely medicinal in the house.

"... Hey, you really know what you're doing?" Therion goes to look at the other man cooking, "Don't just add whatever grass you want in there...!"

"Don't worry, I eat these oats all the time! Nearly every day! Super healthy!" He grins to the nervous looking thief.

_Maybe they did something to his brain._

Therion looks over some of the ingredients by the pot, "... there's barely any oats. These're all herbs."

"Oh, yeah I substitute a good portion of the oats for some good ol' essence roots and leaves! It'll keep your energy up and you can use less grain!" Alfyn pulls out a spoonful of the bubbling concoction, "Here, try it!"

Therion looks highly skeptical at the greenish brown liquid. It smells earthy and like dried medicine. He makes the mistake of making eye contact with the sparkly-eyed Alfyn behind the spoon. With a sigh of resignation, he takes a slurp from the spoon.

It is soupy and barely has any solids. It gave him energy alright. He felt like he had all the energy needed to hurl that entire vat of nasty juice out the door down the road. His face notably screws up and he quickly retreats back to his window.

"Ahaha, ya don't like it?"

Therion does not respond, too busy trying to get the taste out of his mouth and repress gagging and vomiting. Sadiq is next to taste. Primrose watches from where she sits. She can smell that stuff and does not approach just yet. Sadiq gulps it down with a big grin, which Alfyn returns. He then offers some to Prim.

"Prim, want to try?"

"No thank you, Alfyn," She gives a small smile, "It smells unique."

"Ahaha, yeah it was something my dad made for me when I was real little. Hehe," His cheerfulness noticeably drops when he says that, "It'll really kick ya in the gut."

"How is this going to help with the healing?" Therion looks to the apothecary, mildly annoyed still at the taste.

"Ehh! This has the essence of grape in it! That's one o' the best remedies there is for cuts and wounds! Can't ya taste the bitterness?"

Ah, yes. Of the important and diverse body of flora across Orsterra, there are the grape, the plum, the nut, the pomegranate, and the olive which form the pentagram of life. Grapes, not like the ones used for wine making, hold a soothing property that helps with recuperation. Plums are key components of any revitalization elixir, restoring energy and the soul. Nuts were items of fortitude that held powerful, enhancing qualities. Pomegranates were fruits of invigoration and frenzy, able to inspire strength out of even the weary. Olives are often sold at high prices for their amazing ability to allegedly bring people out of comas or even near death.

They are all expensive, rare and high-end products in the world of medicines. Essence is usually a powder or refined oil from the source fruit that holds a small, concentrated amount of its properties. It often costs just as much, if not more than the basic item. Some can extract minor essence from the plant, if not the fruit itself. It is less potent to chew a grape leaf than eat the real fruit, but times are so lean that even those leaves would be pricey.

"How did you get your hands on that essence?" Therion looks quizzically to the apothecary finishing his brew, "That stuff isn't cheap."

"It was just my luck I managed t' grow a sprout!" Alfyn gives a 'ok' sign with his hand, "I use the leaves, since it ain't got full fruits yet. But it does the job!"

After a few more minutes of tending to the gruel, Alfyn seems satisfied after a final taste, "Mm! Come n' get it, you guys!"

He hands them each a small wooden bowl filled to the brim and a wooden spoon. Therion sighs and begins to eat. After having finished adding everything, the nutty apothecary actually succeeded in managing to tamp down the scent to boost its edibility. Primrose eats slowly, taking care to blow on each steaming bite. Sadiq slurps his up noisily.

"So? Whaddya think?" Alfyn grins after they're about done.

"It was good, Alfyn," Primrose hands him back her bowl.

"Bleh," Therion hands his back, "Amazing I could eat it."

"Ya don't strike me as a picky eater, Therion," Alfyn chuckles as he receives it.

Therion makes a slight face at the comment, "I'll have you know I have great taste."

"Don't listen to him, Alfyn. Thieves have indiscriminate tastes," Prim teases.

Therion nearly pops a vessel when she outs him as a thief. But to his surprise and slight relief, Alfyn laughs it off.

"Hehe, Therion strikes me as a guy who'll eat a lot, is all!"

He gives the thief a hearty slap on the back before going to wash the emptied bowls. Therion gives Primrose a slight look of annoyance on the side. She shrugs back at him with a slight smirk.

"Alright! After this, we'll all go take a bath an' then I'll clean those wounds of yours!"

"What kinda bath are we talking about here?" Therion glances to the apothecary, "No way this hamlet has a bath house."

"Oh it's just the crystal lake. It's where the clear brook empties into!" Alfyn babbles a bit, "You'll see! It's so great an' clear there! You could practically drink the water outta it!"

Maybe it's this water, Therion pauses in thought for a moment. Some happy juice turned this guy into the sappy idiot he is.

"So we'll all be bathing together! Oh, uh, unless Prim wants t' go first. Cuz, uh, she's a lady…"

"Thank you, Alfyn," Prim smiles a little and sighs. She had bathed with customs before. Unlike in the bed, she never could enjoy that for some reason.

"And then I'll check on your wounds again after," Alfyn nods, "So, let's go!"

The four of them walk off with Alfyn leading. Near the town, along the bend of the river, is a small lake. The water is very clear here, indicating little presence of life forms living in it. As a good portion of it is rather deep, a small rope line floats to show the bathing area, anchored by trees lining the bank. Alfyn goes to take the boys around and show them the scenery while Primrose undresses and bathes.

Therion picks a branch off a low hanging tree and swings it around a little, "And there aren't any frogs here?"

"Well, there normally aren't. But with the current state o' things, it's always good to be prepared!" Alfyn pats the side of his bag, where an old axe is strapped under, "Not just for cuttin' plants!"

"Can you actually use that," Therion side-eyes the weapon. It looks old and worn from repeated use. He didn't doubt the apothecary's ridiculous strength to use it, really. He doubted his guts.

"Well, yeah! It's the best way sometimes to cut the head off a snake you know? And then ya can harvest the fangs fer antivenom!" Alfyn grins, "And it does well 'nuff against froggen."

"Frogs? Froggie?" Sadiq prods and pokes around under rocks and by the grasses, probably looking for his next meal.

"Speakin' of snakes, they're the ones you really gotta have an eye out for! Vipers an' water snakes t' be exact. Nasty, an' they can strike like lightning! By the whiskers of Bifelgan, I can't tell ya how many snakebites me an' Zeph have treated!"

"Just move faster than the snake," Therion quips dryly. He meant it as a joke.

"We can't all be that fast!" Alfyn laughs.

"Wait, so was it actually a good idea to bathe here," Therion pauses, "The snakes aren't acting up too, are they?"

"Er... well, more along the path to the caves of Rhiyo. But that's why we don't let people go there much anymore unless there's a big group. Shame too, since a lotta nice herbs and flowers grow there."

"Don't risk your life for a couple of weeds," Therion now keeps his eye to the grasses for any slithering bodies.

"Hehe, you worried about me, Theri?"

Therion stops dead in his tracks, "What did you just call me?"

"Uh, Theri. It's got a nice ring to it, y'know? You're Theri, Primrose is Prim, and this is Sadi!" Alfyn points to Sadiq with a grin, "And you can call me Alf! We're all buds!"

"_Don't_ call me that," Therion rolls his eyes. There's only so much of this positive attitude he can handle, "Just Therion. Ok?"

"Ok, ok, Theri...on."

The thief rolls his eyes. Something like a tail catches his eye among the grass; a long and scaly one wiggling around. He gestures for the other two to be quiet as he draws his dagger and slowly creeps over to the taller reeds.

There is a quick movement when he pries at some tall blades of grass with the tip of his weapon. A flash of something reddish slashes at him like a whip and lunges for his neck from the revealed grass. Alfyn, seeing it too late, calls out.

"Theri-"

A sudden gust blows past him from the sheer force of movement the old man makes beside him with the polearm. The point spears the snake-like head just short of Therion's neck. The width of the shaft tears and pulverizes the neck of the creature, severing its head from the serpentine body. The thief jumps back, a bit of reptilian blood having squirted onto the bottom of his chin. Tensed, he lowers his eyes to see the small bisected thing laying in the grass.

It was not quite fully a snake. The remains of the head certainly showed the fangs and a long neck. But the neck expands at the lower body, into a balloon like torso with small, vestigial arms, the legs of a frog, and an odd tail resembling a tadpole's flipper. Its color is not wholly green like the usual frogmen, but yellowish. The lower body twists grotesquely still despite being decapitated until a few moments pass, and it stills.

"What... is that?"

Sadiq scratches his head, like he has no idea of what he had just done, "Not frog?"

"Never seen this before..." Alfyn bends down to look at it, "It has fangs like a snake!"

"The hell... did some crazy frogs freaking _mate_ with the snakes?!" Therion's face shows slight horror and disgust at the thought.

Sadiq cautiously uses his spear to pry around the reeds. He gives a slightly excited hoot, "Eggs!"

Alfyn and Therion look over. Where the thing had sprung from was a small wet hole the reeds concealed. In the hole is a small pool of water filled with what look like large frog eggs. They seem ready to burst, with large, serpentine tadpoles wriggling inside the translucent jelly-like casing. Some that had hatched already seem to be eating their unhatched siblings.

"Whoa! A nest of these things!"

Therion quickly stabs his sword into the brood nest, eliciting a slight yelp of surprise from Alfyn as translucent frog egg goo goes flying. The premature forms wriggle to try and escape, a futile attempt as Therion mercilessly hacks apart the young.

"W-Wow, Therion..." Alfyn stares a bit at the massacre, "Didja really have to...?"

"You do that to every monster nest you find. 'Else you'll grow to regret it," Therion flicks his sword to get some of the residue off, "And these things... are real trouble if they really are spawn from the snakes and frogs."

"Yeah, I've never seen 'em round here before... monsters are really... becomin' something."

"We should get that flashy woman out of the water."

"There you are!"

They turn heads to see Primrose crouched among the grasses, a rather annoyed look on her face. She is keeping most of her body hidden but it becomes painfully obvious that she is nude.

"Which one of you stole my clothes?!" She hisses, eyes already on Therion.

"W-what the-! Pri-Prim, y-yer-"

"Must be the frog snake things."

"What are you talking about..." Primrose's voice trails a bit as she thinks back to last night, "... Those damned lecherous..."

"Let's just wash up and get the hell out of here..." Therion sighs.

"Wait, what about my clothes?!"

"Go buy new ones. You're going up to the Frostlands, so you might as well," Therion shrugs.

"Aw, c'mon, Therion," Alfyn clamps a hand on the thief's shoulder, "We'll get those clothes back and bathe lickety split!"

"Lick each other clean?!" Sadiq perks up.

"Wat- No, no Sadi, bathe!" Alfyn bursts out laughing, "Prim, we'll find yer clothes. So ya can wait in the water 'stead of the grass 'til we get 'em."

The dancer sighs, "Thank you, Alfyn..."

"C'mon Therion! Sadi!" Alfyn grins into the glowering face of the thief as he drags him along by the neck into the grasses.

"Why can't she go find her own clothes!?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for her to run around naked, Therion," Alfyn chuckles, "Didja want that?"

"What- NO!" Therion quickly objects and pulls from Alfyn, clearly offended, "What the hells-"

"Alright, alright, I was just joking!" Alfyn heartily chuckles at the overreaction.

Therion grumbles before looking to the old man, who is staring off, "... see anything, Sadiq?"

The old man puts a finger to his lips and cups his ear, as though straining to hear something. The thief and apothecary pause. Alfyn mimics him. Therion just stands and listens in the ensuing quiet.

There is a rustle in the grass... but it's a bit too material to be just grass. Something is moving in it? There is a noise like a hiss. A snake creature. Therion draws his knife.

There is a sudden eruption of sound that interrupts their moment of listening; a loud croak. It came from the direction where they had seen the nest. Without a further moment wasted, they move quickly, back to where the dead snake thing is.

Upon arrival, they see the forms of two river frogmen, but they seem different. Their yellowish skin is slightly reminiscent of snake scales rather than smooth, amphibian sliminess. They see the three come upon them and one gives a low, threatening croak. In its hands is the familiar red garb of the dancer. At its feet is the remains of the nest Therion had destroyed. Their odd reptilian eyes are fixated initially on the nest, but quickly look up to the three with what could palpably be disbelief and anger.

"Uh... I think they're mad, Therion..." Alfyn's hand goes to touch his axe.

"Whatever," Therion readies his sword, "We just need those clothes, right?"

"_KERROOO!"_ The frogs charge.

Therion dodges the tongue whip of one and makes a quick slash at its vocal sac so it can't make any more alerts for nearby friends. The skin feels a bit tougher, so his slash lands with less effect. It swats at him with a meaty hand and he narrowly dodges. He slashes upward and the arm goes flying off. The frog gives a hysterical cry. While distracted with its lost appendage, that made it easy for Therion to make his final attack on the monster, spilling out its guts with a rip to its stomach.

Alfyn is much slower. It is apparent he may not be the most expert fighter, or had little experience. He swings his axe, but the frog side steps the attack. Before he can recover to swing again, the frog moves to kick him. Luckily, Sadiq smashes the creature's leg with the blunt of his spear, then flips it to directly stab the frog in the chest. It gives a loud, gurgling croak, grabbing in vain at the spear shaft. Alfyn finishes it off with a wide swing of the axe to its head.

With the last frog over with, they slowly catch their breath. Primrose's garments meanwhile dropped onto the soggy mess that is the ruined nest when the frogs had charged in rage. Therion picks it out with the tip of his sword.

"Mission accomplished. I think we've earned our bath."

The dancer was a bit less than happy to see that her clothes, which were just cleaned in the morning, had now slimy frog egg all over it. Alfyn offers her his vest as a temporary cover, which she accepts.

"I suppose I'll go rinse this while you boys enjoy your bath."

"Careful of the frog-snakes, Prim!" Alfyn calls out to her as she walks a short distance away.

Sadiq takes a plunge into the water, practically jumping out of his clothes like an old skin. He happily paddles about on his back. Therion would not have thought any Sunlander capable of that proficiency in water movement.

"Hehe, last one in's a rotten grape!" Alfyn quickly undresses and jumps in after the old man with a splash. He had jumped out of his clothes quickly, but Therion was still able to notice something like scars on his back. He decides not to ask.

Therion doesn't bother with the contest, taking his time to unbutton his only shirt. It was a good thing his scarf and poncho were still drying back at Alfyn's house. He takes care to take off his boots, so as not to dislodge the guardian amulet within the wrappings around the shaft. Alfyn stares a bit from the water. He couldn't take his eyes off those scars and knicks on the other's darker skin, or that big bruise on his chest.

"Hey," Therion's curt call jolts him out of his daze, "How'm I supposed to bathe with the wrap on my arm."

"Oh, uh," Alfyn quickly recovers his tongue, "I'll just wash it right now! My satchel's got everythin' I need to patch it back up after cleaning!"

The thief unwraps his arm, wincing slightly when the last folds fall away. The gash seems a bit deflated and greenish now, with all the pus gone. It stings when he lowers himself into the water.

Alfyn wades up to Therion and gently washes the wound of dried blood or leftover pus. His hands, though strong, are gentle enough that they don't irritate the wound further. The cool water runs over the gash with an initial sting, but it feels comfortable after a few washes. The cut felt slightly inflamed, but that feeling is gone now, replaced with a soothing cool.

"Mm... better?" Alfyn looks up to the other.

"... Yeah, thanks."

"That bruise looks pretty fresh," Alfyn points at the other's chest, "I'll treat it later."

Therion just grunts in response. Before he can react, Alfyn suddenly reaches for his face. His hand brushes the other's lopsided bangs out of the way, revealing his scarred eye. He feels his temperature jump a bit as he stumbles back in the water. Alfyn catches his shackled wrist before he goes under. When he regains his footing in the next half second, he pulls his arm away callously.

"What the hells...!"

"Ehe, sorry..." Alfyn chuckles, "I thoughtcha were hidin' another wound."

Therion would not have bought that shoddy excuse normally. But he also knew the simpleton it was coming from. So he just scowls and says, "Don't ever do that again."

"Alright, alright, sorry..." Alfyn points at the bangle on his wrist, "Why dontcha take that off?"

"Can't," Therion replies tersely.

"... Ohh," Alfyn smacks a fist in his palm, having a eureka moment, "That's why ya needed a locksmith right?!"

"Forget that," Therion sighs, "Only the Dragonstones will get this thing off at the rate this is going."

"Oh, is it magic or something?"

"... I dunno. Maybe," Therion hadn't heard much but rumors and jeers about the bangle. No doubt the rumors were aggrandized to make it all the more embarrassing for the wearer. Whether it has magical capabilities or not, he had not seen it. But his own lockpicking hadn't worked. Supposedly only one key works for each bangle, making each mechanism unique.

"What is it by the way?"

"Don't mind it. It's just a nuisance," The thief lathers water onto his shoulders and pits. At least this guy didn't know what the thing was. Otherwise, everyone would know he was a fool, given the mouth on him.

"Well... at least ya can still have fun in the water!" Alfyn grins, ignoring the thief's terse reply.

He playfully splashes water on the thief. Therion narrowly avoids most of the droplets. With a slight eye roll, he splashes back on the apothecary. It's not long before the goofy old man joins in on the game and the three splash around like children, with Therion having a straight face on the whole time.

"Having fun?"

Primrose emerges from the reeds, dressed in her wet clothes.

"Ah, Prim!" Alfyn looks up, "How's your leg?"

"Much better, thanks to you, Alfyn," She lowers herself to sit by the water's edge, "I suppose I am grateful this dancer's garb dries quickly."

Alfyn gestures for her to let him see the wound. She obliges. He looks it over with a quizzical expression and lightly presses on the tumid area. Primrose expects to wince. Instead, she feels the inflammation cease, as though his touch is cooling it.

"Hehe, yep, it's makin' a good recovery!" He lets go of her leg.

"... Did you see any more frog freaks around?" Therion submerges himself up to his chin.

"I saw some sneaking about," Prim lightly kicks some droplets absentmindedly, "But I didn't confront them... yet. They were moving towards the ridge there," The dancer points towards a low mountain range downstream.

"Eh... That's where the caves of Rhiyo are..." Alfyn scratches his head a bit.

"Hm... Ah, Alfyn, your back..." Primrose sees those scars now too.

"Eh, ah, oh, ahaha! It's nothing, just old marks...!" The apothecary's laugh is practically void of nervousness, "I got in a bit of trouble as a kid... a lot."

"I see... if you are well enough, I can give you a massage on your back later," Primrose says somewhat suggestively, a bit of mirth in her voice.

"... Well I'm done," Therion hauls himself out of the water before Alfyn can respond, not bothering to dry a bit before donning his shirt and pants.

"Ya both are healin' up real nicely! Are ya hittin' the road soon?" Alfyn climbs out after Therion. Sadiq seems content to float on his back a bit longer.

"Yes, as soon as possible... Come, Sadiq," Primrose calls to the old man. At her command, he climbs out and quickly dresses, albeit a bit disheveled.

"Shucks, it sounds pretty cool, goin' out into Orsterra like that... Betcha've seen a lot, huh!" Alfyn gets to bandaging that arm again, as well as Prim's leg.

"You're a grown man, so go out when you feel like it," Therion says slightly on the side, "Not like you have family keeping you here, right..."

Primrose roughly elbows him right in the bruised area, making him double over slightly.

"Ahaha, it's fine, it's fine!" Alfyn waves the comment away, "My folks're dead... but Zeph and the village are like my own family too. Hehe, they watched me grow up from some rascal until I made something of myself."

"Well, you could definitely take care of yourself, Alfyn. I can see that," Primrose nods slightly, "It wouldn't even be a bad idea if you came with us. We do find ourselves with many scrapes along the road."

"Haha, sounds swell but I dunno..." Alfyn chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

Therion growls slightly at Primrose when he recomposes himself. Before he can say anything, there is suddenly a sound from the direction of the town. It's almost like a distant, shrill scream.

"Shit-"

Therion is nearly run over by Alfyn, who positively flies back down the road to Clearbrook. The thief, dancer, and Sadiq run after him. Therion hadn't thought the bumpkin could run so fast.


	7. Chapter 7: Blood For Blood

By the time the four arrived back before the town's landmark hill on the east, the river had already been tainted with red. The screams subsided to low gasps and murmurs of the humanity. The townsfolk of the little town could only stare and then avert their eyes at the form below the bridge.

Not even dressed in any clothes, wrapped in only a thin sheet; her hair splayed out to the shallow water underneath her, flowering with the red blotches blossoming from the shattered skull; her insides oozing out onto the babbling brook over the stones of the riverbed...

Fiona had jumped.

Fredger had to be restrained by several hands before he could also leap after her.

"Fiona! FIONAAaaa... ah... ah..."

The man's cries choke as sobs arise in his throat. Slowly, some townspeople lead him aside and try to calm him in hushed assurances. Alfyn's chalky face glances reluctantly over the stone arch and down at the body in the river. His normal smile is gone. His hands grasp the stone until his knuckles are white. Zeph stands on the east bank, looking as pale as he is.

Therion and Primrose stand a bit away, knowing themselves as outsiders. Sadiq stares a bit, with slightly widened eyes. Though he cannot possibly see the spectacle from where he is standing, he nonetheless is shocked silent.

Primrose averts her eyes a bit from the scene, instead focusing on Alfyn. She and Therion both look a bit at the other man's face.

An elderly man in the crowd shakes his bearded head and clears his throat, "Ahem… clear out of the square now… Goren and the other woodsman will help to clean up."

At his rather quiet declaration, people slowly begin to move again. Zeph lingers, approaching Alfyn, who may not be registering his presence. He puts a hand on the other's shoulder, startling him. Alfyn looks to him immediately with the face of one who saw a ghost.

"A-Alf… you okay…?"

"Uh-… Zeph…" Alfyn seems to take a bit gathering his words, "Y-yeah, I'm… I'll see you … around…"

"I think you need a break…"

Alfyn's head nods absentmindedly as his feet shuffle away from Zeph clumsily. His wide eyes are kept to the ground. Don't look at anyone's faces. He pushes past even Primrose and the others.

"Alfyn…" Primrose murmurs only quietly, not trying to stop him. She looks a bit pained seeing him walk alone down the path deeper into the village.

Therion glances at the men who prepare to scale down the bridge sides and retrieve the remains. Not wanting to remain for that, he follows after Alfyn. Primrose lingers a bit before following with Sadiq.

"… Horrible…" The old man mutters nigh inaudibly under his beard.

"… are you lucid, Sadiq?"

"Yes…" Sadiq sighs, "Though I wonder if it is a good thing if heartache and this sort of disaster is all I awake to…"

Primrose says nothing more as they trail after the apothecary in silence. After some walking, they come to an elevation in the village, before Alfyn's home. A series of wooden steps are embedded in the dirt face as stairs. Alfyn climbs the hill slowly, still looking down. Therion espies the trees and gating at the top as he follows a little behind.

At the summit of the hill is the town cemetery, with headstones dotting the flattened earth. Old trees with semi-bare branches provide little shade around the edges of the fenced area. Alfyn walks up to a tombstone in the back of the graveyard. It seems rather old. Wordlessly, he drops down, sitting heavily before it. The thief, dancer and old man stand some rows of stones back. Therion ducks slightly behind one of the larger stones, appearing to be praying.

"What are we doing, sneaking like rats…?" Primrose whispers as she kneels down beside him.

"Shh. What does it look like I'm doing."

"Why do we have to resort to this kind of spying…?!" Primrose sighs, "It makes it seem like we suspect him of something…"

"Maybe I do," Therion shrugs and peeks over the stone, looking at Alfyn's back.

The perky self he had gotten used to is now slouched over. He can't really blame him. Straining his ears a bit, he picks up the first word over a slight breeze passing by.

"…Ma…"

His mother's tombstone.

Primrose leans against the stone, drawing her knees to her chest as she sits a bit more comfortably. She whispers, "That poor girl… I hope Alfyn isn't blaming himself over that…"

Therion shushes her again. She gives him a slight stink eye on the side in response. The thief only keeps his eyes and ears tuned to the low voice of the apothecary.

"… thought I could have saved her… But I guess… what she went through…"

The other man suddenly gives a loud yell of frustration, startling the hidden trio. Therion nearly falls over from his position. Alfyn flops on his back in the dirt, looking up at the sky.

"I keep lettin' 'em slip through my fingers…!" Alfyn roars, "What'll it take… until I can finally…"

He is heard sighing loudly. Therion suddenly stands and walks out from the rows of stones. His steps make Alfyn look up from his prone position with slight surprise. With a weak smile, he greets the thief standing over him.

"Ehe… Oh, hey, Therion."

"Don't…" Therion sighs and tries again, "You don't have to keep smiling after something like that."

"… I guess yer right…" Alfyn still chuckles lightly, smile yet plastered, "'M jus'… a bit outta it, y' know…?"

The man on the floor drapes his arms over his face and gives a bitter sigh. Therion detects a bit of a quiver in his voice as he inhales.

"People… they're gonna keep dyin'… no matter what we do…" Alfyn mutters, his voice somewhat brittle, "'S the price we pay fer livin', as Ma always said… But 's always so hard…"

Therion stands there awkwardly, just listening. Primrose now peeps out at him and slowly stands from her sitting spot.

"… Can't save them all."

Therion's terse words make Alfyn flinch. Primrose stands brusquely and walks over briskly. She slaps the thief's arm hard, though his poncho provided ample buffer from the strike.

"Gods, did you really have to say that?!"

Therion shrugs, "It's the truth."

"… Aye, it is…" Alfyn murmurs quietly.

"…Alfyn…" Primrose kneels a bit and lightly touches the other's strong arms folded over his face, "… you don't have to hide your face if you're crying."

"Ehehe… I know… 's healthy to have a good cry now an' then… I…" One arm pries off and rests at his side, "I just wish… I could've saved her… Didn't even get to say goodbye…"

"Her mind is not something that could have been easily touched by tinctures or salves," Primrose says carefully, "I have… seen the faces of those who have been broken in my line of prior employment… Her face was… very much the same. You did your best with what you had, Alfyn…"

"… She could've gotten better if she… I mean… why choose death…" Alfyn grits his teeth a bit, "Doesn't make any sense… now ya got no shot of gettin' better!"

The dancer has no response. The thief stands, looking out to the beautiful scenery accessible from the hill's vantage point. Sadiq slowly makes his way over, speaking softly.

"When one's pain is so great in the moment, one believes they may never heal. It is something healers cannot see with their eyes."

"Sadi?"

"Since I have lost my daughter… I find that I am slipping away longer and further away now. I believe it is a reflex to shield from the heartbreak that will never heal… So, my mind will take refuge in the inane gibbering thoughts of fools."

Primrose can only bear to look at the old man from the corner of her eye as he approaches. Alfyn takes his remaining arm off his face, showing his reddish eyes. He sits up, slouching, and sighs.

"So… is that how you're going to deal with it, Sadi…"

"Aye. But as my daughter gave her life for Primrose… I have faith in her as well and pledge my spear and what is left of my old body to her."

Therion stiffens slightly, and so does Primrose.

"… Was it because Fiona didn't have a reason like you do that she…" Alfyn looks down at the dirt between his legs a bit pensively now, "Poor ol' Fredger…"

"... Come on," Therion extends a hand to the apothecary before the dancer can, "We just took a bath, so get outta the dirt."

Alfyn looks up with slight surprise and pulls himself up with Therion's help. The thief eyes his pants, which are brown, so the dirt camouflages anyway. Alfyn wipes at his running nose and reddened eyes a bit.

"... Thanks Therion..." Alfyn takes a big breath before letting out another loud shout. Unlike the last one, this does not seem to leave any trace of frustration in him, instead letting it all out.

"... You certainly know how to release some steam, Alfyn," Primrose checks to make sure she can still hear.

He gives a small smile, "I gotta go see if Fredger's alright. Can't let any more slip through my fingers by moping, not if I wanna be able to heal everyone."

"Heal everyone?" Therion nearly rolls his eyes at that ridiculous dream. Primrose shoots him a look clearly saying 'don't you dare.'

"Yep! That's why I became an apothecary! Well, more like, I met a guy who did that and I wanna be like him! Don't you guys have dreams like that?"

Therion had never modeled himself after a particular role model. Thieves were as far from role models as you get. A lot of people back in Bolderfall aspired to be like Marta, with her tough guts and wrangling spirit. But he couldn't handle all that. She was a leader type who didn't crack under the trust everyone put in her. So he just tried to be the best master thief he could be.

"No. But it's wonderful that you have a role model, Alfyn," Primrose smiles, "Now, shall we be off? I daresay I ought to get my clothes dry once more."

"Sure! Hmm..." Alfyn thinks a moment, "Maybe we can all have dinner tonight at the tavern!"

"That sounds nice."

"Do you have the leaves to afford that..." Therion side-eyes Alfyn, who laughs it off.

"It'll be great! I can at least get us drinks!"

Sadiq smiles slightly under his thick facial hair, "It certainly helps, to have spirits to drown in."

"Hmm, maybe I'll see if I can get Fredger to come... or does that seem a bit insensitive..."

Therion was surprised he even thought of that. He thought himself the least tactful of them all here, not counting the old coot.

"Well... yes, maybe waiting a bit is wiser," Primrose shrugs slightly, "It is still the same day after all."

"Yeah... Y' know, I always dreamed of some kinda tonic or somethin' that would cheer people right up. Like a salve for your heart and soul," Alfyn scratches the back of his neck, "Then I could help ol' Fredger a lot more..."

"That sounds totally like something you would think about," Therion says dryly, unamused.

"It's a fine sentiment," Primrose follows up immediately, "I'm going back to dry my clothes... Shall we come meet you at the inn, Alfyn?"

"Yeah. I think I'll be done with my rounds 'fore the sun sets. You guys can find your way fine?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," Therion sighs and already begins walking off the hill. Primrose waves a little to Alfyn before she goes as well, Sadiq with her.

Alfyn sighs as they vanish from sight. He's still smiling, but it isn't so plastered now. Yet there remained a heavy feeling sitting on his gut and nudging up against his heart. It was a very familiar feeling. He'd felt it every time someone passed away in Clearbrook, another life he failed to save. It was an ache he never let heal.

"... Well, off I go, ma."

…

Zeph and Figgs were among the men who remained close in watch on Fredger. The mayor had thought it prudent that he be watched closely, lest he hurt himself after such a shocking event. Goren is standing before the broken man sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to explain they found Fiona's halberd, but they cannot give it to him.

"So, we found the silver halberd, ol' Fred... but, er, mayor says you... you can't have it back yet..."

Fredger's eyes are glued at Goren's feet on the floor before him. His lifeless eyes stare out from his gaunt face behind stringy bangs of brown and white hair. Slowly, he speaks, hunched over with his elbows rested on his knees.

"...That was... her father's..."

"Aye... erh..." Goren flusters a bit, "Y-ye'll be back on yer feet soon, mate..."

With that awkward exchange, Goren pushes past Zeph and Figgs, scrambling for the door. The apothecary rubs his arm uncomfortably and tries to find the right words. Fredger's voice can be heard in low mumbles, laced with despair and dark emotion.

"...kill 'em... kill 'em all..."

"Fred..." Figgs sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks to Zeph, "I'll see if I can't rustle up something at the bar for 'im. Mind keeping watch alone?"

"No... I think spirits will give him something he needs," Zeph murmurs, eyes still on Fredger.

Figgs nods and leaves. Zeph slowly walks up to the muttering man.

"You need any water, Fred?"

The older man shakes his head limply. He clasps his hands to his face and sniffles quite loudly, as though to clear up his sinuses. Then he speaks, no longer muttering. His eyes remain looking ahead, not at Zeph on the side.

"Oh Zeph... I suppose ye'd know what it's like..."

"Uh... what?" Zeph reluctantly takes a seat beside him on the bed.

"Ye'd lost your folks at a young age... had to take care of yer sister," Fredger sighs, "When Malleus died, Fiona was but a wee lass. She still 'members 'im of course... I took her in. Raised her like I woulda my own."

"Yeah," Zeph nods along. Everyone knew everyone's business here in the village.

"Of all the things she coulda thought of 'er old man... She just had to want to be a watchman like 'e was..." Fredger clasps his hands together and rubs his forehead with his thumbs, "An' now look. Only that damn axe stick left... Cripes..."

Zeph awkwardly rubs the older man's back. His father had taught him to do slow, circle motions to best ease vertigo or discomfort. But this was different. It was inner pain. Zeph didn't know much of anything about that. When Nina cried, he just relied on his gut. Now, it was no different.

There is the sound of the door opening. Zeph looks to see Figgs enter with Alfyn. "Alf!"

"Yo, Zeph!" Alfyn positively brightens the room with his usual grin. It is a sympathetic smile though, "Ran into Figgs as I was gonna come help!"

"Here, Fred," Figgs hands the downcast man a wooden cup of strong spirits. The man downs it in one go. He sputters and shivers slightly as it goes down. He hands the bartender back the cup before promptly lying down on his side.

Zeph looks at the now sleeping man before turning back to Alfyn, "... Sleepweed?"

Alfyn chuckles, "Well... I didn't have any better ideas. He's liable to stay up all night wearin' himself out otherwise, y'know?"

"No, you're right..." Zeph sighs, "I would have done the same, probably."

"Well, it's getting late you two," Figgs sighs, "What say you both get some food and drink down. If you can keep it down after today, that is."

"I'm up for a good ale," Alfyn smiles.

Zeph sighs with a light smile, "I'm not one for drinking. And someone needs to keep an eye on Fredger..."

"Well, holler if ya need the whole village. I'll pick something up for ya, okay?" Alfyn gives his best friend a grin, "Ya never even got to finish your nap, I'll bet."

"Gee, is it that obvious?" Zeph chuckles lightly as he stands and draws some covers over Fredger, "I just hope it doesn't induce night terrors..."

"Naw, slumberthorn is the one that does that, remember? Sleepweed is a bit lighter."

"Right, right..." Zeph stretches, "I must really be wiped out..."

"Hehe, need any plum juice?"

"You don't have any, Alf," Zeph sighs, "You wish you did."

"Hehe, yer not totally out of it!" Alfyn salutes slightly, "See ya in a bit!"

Alfyn and Figgs make their way out, leaving Zeph with the slumbering Fred. It is slowly turning into dusk, and the moon can be glimpsed distantly.

"Aw yeah, I should go check on Melody's grandpa and see if he's alright..."

"Old Grummet just cannot give up that pipe of his, eh?" Figgs looks to Alfyn, "But he's not the only one with bad habits."

"No worries, I'll be quick!" Alfyn gives him a grin and goes off for his other patient.

…

Alfyn was not at the tavern when the dancer, thief, and old man arrived, dressed in their finally cleaned and dried clothes. The sky was dark outside, but had only been so for less than an hour now. There is a decent crowd here, all abuzz with hubbub after the day's happenings. It takes a crisis to unite a village. The trio make themselves scarce and sit down at a table.

Figgs comes over, having seen them enter and places a flagon of ale before each of them. Primrose smiles sweetly at him in response.

"My, service comes fast."

"Well, Alfyn told me to be expecting you," Figgs chuckles, "He's off-"

"Seeing patients again, right?" Therion sips his drink.

"Yep. Classic Alf," Figgs chortles lightly, "So, you're his outta town friends."

"Yes. He's been very hospitable, putting up with us," Primrose glances about the scene around them for now, before looking to her drink, "Is it always so busy?"

"Naw. It's just because of Fiona's death... people wanna get together a bit after something so horrible and talk a bit."

Sadiq seems to fancy his drink, having lost his lucidness once again. Figgs eyes him oddly as he tries to suck up stray droplets of ale that dribbled into his beard. Primrose merely chuckles, taking out Yusufa's cleaned handkerchief and wiping the old man's lips like a mother would her child.

"Hey guys!" Alfyn bursts in the front door and marches right over to their table, "Sorry I'm late!"

"Who was it who said they'd be done before the sun sets?" Therion cocks an eyebrow at Alfyn.

"Ehehe, guilty as charged. But ya can't rush health ya know," Alfyn takes a seat, "Speakin' o' which, I need to do a final check up on your wounds still!"

Figgs hands him a flagon of ale before leaving their table with a small smile.

"You are a very persistent doctor, Alfyn," Primrose giggles playfully, "There is no more pain in my leg, thanks to you. We'll be fine to go at sunrise."

"Ehe, I see!" There is a small dampening of that smile, but only for a moment, "You're goin' north right? Be sure t'dress warm, Primrose! Ya could freeze t' death in that dress!"

"The cold doesn't bother me very much. But thank you for your concern, Alfyn," She sips her ale slowly, not caring much for the taste. It was almost all the same, the cheap stuff.

"Gee, y' know, if I think about it... travelin' around sounds pretty swell. I'd get to help everyone an' all... just like he did..." Alfyn gulps down his drink, "'Course I gotta keep everyone's health up here. Zeph... Well, I'd be too worried t' leave him alone!"

Therion rolls his eyes.

"You and Zeph are almost like brothers if I do say so myself," Primrose says to distract from the thief's reaction.

"Aye, we'd grown up together here. Hehe, his old man taught us both everything we know. After his folks died, well, me and ma helped out with Nina and the job an' all. Then, when ma died, he helped me," Alfyn seems to fondly recall those moments, "He's like my family, yeah."

"How sweet," Therion mutters, finishing his ale. His ears are tuned in to other conversations at the moment. But there isn't much gossip about rare treasures or steals here. Just backwater country banter.

"Say, ya both left yer folks to go out into the wide world eh?"

"In a sense, yes..." Primrose looks down at an interesting squiggle in the wood grain of the table, "My parents are both dead."

"Never knew mine," Therion quickly says before he can be asked.

"Aw, shucks... Sorry," Alfyn's expression falls a bit, "Well, uh, hope ya find that stone y' need to get that chain off, Therion... er, Prim, why're ya goin' up to the north, if ya don't mind me askin'."

"I am looking for someone, simply put..."

Therion side-eyes her. She's still wearing that mask. But it seems a lot less guarded than when he'd first seen her. She didn't seem to face Alfyn.

"But enough about us, Alfyn. How is the girl's uncle?"

"He's sleepin' a bit," Alfyn sighs and downs the rest of his drink, "I still dunno how t' salvage that kinda illness. A broken heart, or a busted soul..."

"You're overthinking it a bit, Alfyn," Primrose lightly pats his shoulder, "You helped me last night after all, but not with your medicine. It was your presence and words."

"Gee, really...?" Alfyn chuckles shyly, "I mean… I always try t' treat with a smile an' all cuz I know… I want my patients t' be happy, y' know? 'S just… is that always enough, I gotta wonder sometimes."

"It'll come to you, Alfyn," Primrose sips her ale, "You are a kind person to whom helping is already second nature."

"Shucks, thanks…"

Therion averts his eyes from the scene. It was suddenly a bit warm, and a bit much in the tavern. He stands, plunking his empty flagon down.

"I'm going for some air."

Before the two can say anything in response, he walks out of the tavern. A cool breeze from outside greets him when he swings the door open. He doesn't stray far into the dark from the light of the tavern. The rest of the village is rather quiet and dim in comparison in the clouded moonlight. He still listens half-heartedly to the loud voices that reach even out here, but with little interest.

His hand goes to absentmindedly feel at the bangle. There was an easy way out of this for sure, but he'd never do it. Not on his pride as a thief. The mere thought of losing one of his hands … it was basically suicide for anyone in their profession. It was one of those superstitions again, stemming from the story of how Aeber was the one who gave humans hands as prehensile as his own, so they could outwit dullard beasts with their clumsy claws and hooves.

He knew it partially had a note of cowardice, the reluctance to lose one of his precious hands. That doesn't matter to him. Looking up at the moon as it returns from a brief cloud, he lets a long sigh drag from his lips.

_Why am I still here..._

For the second time today, he hears a scream. But it's not loud, certainly not loud enough to reach into the rowdy tavern. There are also small, light footsteps coming from the road. They're rushed, followed with panting and the tired screams. He looks to see a small shape in the moonlight running towards him. A hand goes to the hilt of his sword when he sees something following behind it.

"WAAH...!" The incoherent scream is rife with terror. The small shape, a little girl, runs into him, wrapping onto his waist, "AAH-Aaahhh...!"

"What- Hey-" He keeps the little girl's head away with a hand before looking up at the shape she ran from, "...What..."

The shape following her does not move with urgency to catch her, probably because her short little legs could not carry her too quickly. As it approaches, Therion sees it is yet another frog-snake hybrid creature. His eyes widen slightly as he sees Nina's little body in one of its arms, its rubbery fingers holding her head. And she isn't moving.

"_Kerooo..."_

Therion's eyes narrow now as he unsheathes his sword, "... Let her go."

The frog thing blinks at him. Then its face twists in a grotesque mockery of what could be a human's sneering grin. It drops Nina where it stands.

In the next half second, Therion has leapt forth from the little girl's grasp, straight at the amphibious being. Sword in hand, he slashes with ferocity at where the neck ought to be. The creature's bulbous body does not resist, and the squishy flesh is torn asunder. The thief had not realized his own strength, as a majority of the creature's head went flying from that hack, splattering onto the ground meters away.

Therion wastes no time going to pick up Nina's listless body. The other girl meanwhile is still wailing, collapsed onto her knees in a puddle of her own piss. With a scowl, Therion bursts back into the tavern scene. Heads turn and stare at the blood-flecked thief with the child in his arms. He ignores them and looks for Alfyn. Luckily, the apothecary and dancer have already jumped from their seats and come to him at the doorway.

"What happened?!"

"A frog thing..."

"Egads..." Alfyn gives the girl a quick visual checkup, "We need to get to Zeph's, stat!"

He glances past Therion and sees the girl crying outside, "Lily?! Lily!"

As Alfyn runs to gather the other one, Therion starts for the main apothecary's office. Primrose has Sadiq follow. Several others from the tavern scrape their chairs and tail them.

"Alb..Alfwyn...!" Lily clings to him as he gathers her and her wet skirts, running after Therion. Her face is very red and puffy with tears and snot from a long bout of crying, and her voice is hoarse. Alfyn rubs her back and says as much soothing words as he can while he legs carry him down the road.

…

Nina twitches in bed, palimpsest of the convulsions from earlier. Her face remains pale and in a slight grimace, cold sweat slicked over her skin. Alfyn wipes up the last of the froth that was foaming out of her mouth. Her breath hitches at his touch and is irregular overall. The apothecary looks to his friend beside him, whose face seems as if the world has given away under his feet.

"...Nina..."

"Zeph, you should sit down..." Alfyn glances at the girl's leg, where a pair of puncture marks from a snakebite is painfully obvious, being tumescent and surrounded with slightly greenish pallor.

"N-no... I … gotta... get an anti..." The brown-haired man wobbles as he makes for the door out of the house. He stumbles upon opening the door. He would have fallen face flat on the dirt if Sadiq were not standing there. The old man swiftly catches him in a kneeling position.

"Zeph!" Alfyn runs over and feels the other's trembling shoulders. A look of bottomless worry crosses his face, void of any mirth.

Therion and Primrose, along with a few of the villagers crowd about the building vicinity. The two are acutely aware of some suspicious eyes from the villagers. It certainly seemed like bad timing that the two of them came right when there were multiple attacks from the wildlife here. When Zeph bursts out, they all stare at him instead.

"Ngh...!" Zeph pushes away from Sadiq and Alfyn, forcing himself to stand, "I need... to get the antivenom!"

Primrose winces slightly at the torn tone of his voice and the tears that follow as he sobs, collapsing into a pile outside his house.

"No, you gotta stay here with Nina, buddy."

Alfyn gently places his hands on his friend's shaking shoulders. A look of determination shines from his eyes and a slight smile has returned, "I'll go get the antivenom."

"... Alf..."

"The snakes now too... First it was the frogs and now the snakes. Gods, the beasts of the land are coming..." An old lady, assumed to be Ulinor, laments amid the crowd.

Alfyn frowns slightly. He had Therion retrieve the mangled head of the frog-snake creature so he could extract venom from its sacs. However, when he administered it, Nina merely got worse and had a slight seizure. It wasn't the right antivenom. Poor Zeph came running from Fredger's to see his sister thrashing on the bed. What a sight that was.

_But... What else could have bitten her?_

He furrows his brow as he walks Zeph back inside the house. With the candlelight around Nina, it was almost like a vigil. Alfyn goes to touch Nina's leg and concentrates his cooling touch on that swelling. The skin near the bite remains a sickly grayish-green. He then sits Zeph down on a stool by the bedside.

"Alf... Wh-What am I gonna do..." Zeph grips the hem of Alfyn's vest, "I-I can't... lose her..."

Alfyn could remember his same reaction when he saw how his mother wasted away in her last days. He'd blubbered to Zeph in the same way, unwilling to accept reality. A lot of other people in the village called him a bit of a crybaby. Zeph never did.

"Hey, it'll be alright buddy..." Alfyn pats the other's back with as calm a voice as he can manage, "You just watch Nina and I'll be back with that venom. Then we'll be able to cure her, no sweat."

Zeph barely nods. Alfyn says a few more words of encouragement before walking to the door.

"I'll be back before you know it, ok?"

"Alf..." Zeph murmurs, barely above a whisper, his features drained and fatigued, "Thank you..."

"Don't sweat it. You guys are my family."

He exits the house, closing the door behind him. The crowd outside has largely dispersed. Primrose, Therion and Sadiq stood outside, waiting.

"...So, you're gonna go find the thing that bit her," Therion folds his arms slightly, "You sure you won't get bitten yourself?"

"Haha..." Alfyn laughs a bit tiredly, "Did Lily's mom come?"

Primrose nods, "She took the poor little one home at once."

"I gotta go see her and ask what it was that attacked them … She was the only one with Nina."

The trio follow the apothecary through the night to Lily's hut. Alfyn had checked the little girl over. Save the hysteria, she wasn't bitten like Nina. Just scrapes and bruises from running and bumping around blindly probably. Alfyn knocks at the door. It is answered immediately by the distressed looking mother. Despite the time, it was unlikely she'd been asleep.

"Alfyn..."

"Hey, Elnora. I... can I talk to Lily for a bit?"

"I-It's been a long day, Alfyn... and she's..."

"I need to know what she saw. Nina's life depends on it."

Elnora gasps slightly. She mulls for a minute before sighing, "She's crying. Won't go to sleep."

She steps aside and lets Alfyn pass her. The trio remain outside once again.

"... You know, I thought you were going to leave when you left the tavern," Primrose says crisply, "It was good timing you did."

"Right... Aren't I such a lucky person," Therion mutters on the side.

"So, what's stopping you?"

"... What about you? You seemed in such a hurry back in the desert."

"I don't think I can leave Alfyn to go and get hurt on his own," She smiles slightly at nothing in particular, "... It's odd. I don't like it when he isn't smiling."

He's like a breath of fresh air, said something deep in Therion's mind. He knew what the dancer was feeling, probably. The two of them seem to have lived in the shadows for so long that something as … sickeningly nice as this guy here... it was radiant, refreshing even, to know decent people like him were still of this ugly world. For a moment, he is reminded of that other girl, Yusufa.

"So you're gonna help him then," Therion leans back against the wall.

"Aren't you?"

"Hmph." The thief says nothing more on the matter.

Alfyn emerges in a moment from the house. He thanks Elnora and bids her a good night before turning back towards the road with a sigh. Primrose places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"What is it, Alfyn?"

"Uh, s' just the thing that about Nina. Erm..." He rubs the back of his neck and sighs, "They went looking for waterblooms. Those grow mainly 'round Rhiyo at this time of year..."

"Rhiyo? You said that's..." A look of realization crosses Primrose face as she recalls having seen the creatures on those trails.

"Those dumb kids..." Therion scowls slightly, "They actually went to the monster's den."

"But I thought the antivenom from those frog snake things didn't work..." Primrose starts.

"Lily said it was an actual snake that bit her. Ughh!" Alfyn musses his hair with his hands, "Gadzooks this has gotta be the gods laughin' at me!"

"Alfyn, what? What is it?"

"She says they got caught by those frog things and there was a cavern in the caves full of snakes and frogs. Heck, there was a large snake that _talked_."

"...Well that's not normal," Therion says as-a-matter-of-factly, "She hit her head or something?"

"No, I didn't find no signs of concussion... Get this though, Lily said the big snake mentioned something about its brood being destroyed and its babies being killed... so it-"

"Wait, did those damn things...!" Primrose tenses, "Did they... do _that_ to Nina too...?!"

"Thankfully no... At least, I saw no signs of it..."

There is some slight relief among all of them once that horrid thought is cleared.

"Destroying its brood..." Therion mutters. His eye widens slightly when it dawns on him. Alfyn seems to have come to the same conclusion.

"That nest we destroyed..."

"...Tsk," Therion growls, "When do we head out?"

"Wait, you guys are still injured!" Alfyn balks a bit at the dancer and thief, who suddenly seem awfully determined.

"Let us help you, Alfyn," Primrose goes to hold one of his hands, looking him in the eye, "It's the least we can do after your treatment and hospitality."

"Uhh..." Alfyn glances at Therion. In the moonlight, he cannot see the thief has averted his eyes in the shadows.

"... I'm not gonna apologize to any stupid monster, so let's just get this over with."

"He feels bad he may have contributed to the problem," Primrose adds cheekily. The thief bristles, turning away. She'd read him so easily.

"...Hehe, gee, thanks," Alfyn rubs the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, "Ya both are great fighters, so I'd be lyin' if I said this doesn't help with my butterflies a bit."

"You don't have to be awkward about asking us for help, Alfyn. We're glad to help after what you've done for us."

Therion thought the oaf was going to cry at her words. Instead, Alfyn grins and loops his arms around Primrose and drags Therion into it. The thief merely growls and rolls his eyes.

"So, we going or what?"

"Right! Let's! Not a moment to waste!"

Following Alfyn, they walk to the east of the village, near the path where they had taken to the bathing lake. It is a wide, spread out area with not many trees, so the moonlight illuminates much of what is on the road. Alfyn leads with the lantern, with Sadiq watching the rear. At the perimeter of the village limit, they see three figures seemingly waiting with their own lanterns shining.

"Huh?" Alfyn squints, "What the- Gertas! Magg! Fred?!"

The three men turn to see the party along the same road. Alfyn eyes the halberd in Fred's hands, and the axe and pitchfork in the hands of the other two.

"Fellas, what're you..."

"We're goin' snake-huntin.' S' what bit lil' Nina right?"

"That thing was not just a snake, it was some sort of horrid snake froggen before the tavern..." Fredger mutters.

"Uhh, Fred, what're ya..." Alfyn rubs the back of his neck as his voice trails off, "That's Fiona's halberd…"

"... I'm not going to do anything reckless with it but slaughter those monsters..."

"Yer headin' out too right? All the better. We'll quash those slimy scaly things together," The man in a tan tunic, Gertas, wipes his nose with a thumb, "They been hoggin' those caves long enough an' freakin' out the folk. As if I didn't already deal with enough in this village."

"Ah, Gertas. Ya always have some occasion t' complain about," Magg, a younger man with a ponytail, laughs lightly, "But yeah, c'mon, let's all go huntin' together!"

Therion couldn't believe they might be treating this like some sport, "This isn't a game. Those things can kill."

"We can kill'em right back," Gretas growls. He then looks at Primrose and Sadiq in the lantern light, "Lass, ye should go back with the other women. Twill be a bloody path. Ye as well, old man."

Primrose looks the man in the eye with light dismissal, "I'll be fine coming to watch you boys."

Sadiq salutes rather goofily, "Watchman!"

"She's one of the ones that killed those froggen near the village outskirts," Alfyn points his thumb at Primrose, "I'll reckon she kin' hold her own as good as any of us."

Gretas shrugs, "Suit yerselves."

They start down the moonlit road, lanterns in hand. The moon is intermittently covered by passing dark clouds. As they pass the grassy fields, there is the distinct noise of croaking nearby, like the mating songs of frogs in wetlands. Therion and Primrose do not carry their weapons in the open as the others, instead keeping a steady hand on the hilts.

The shadows of the mountainous area of Rhiyo comes into view above the sparse trees. The sound of the river running nearby means it goes towards the mountains. There is the sound of longer, louder frog croaking intervals. On the trodden path before them, their lanterns illuminate what seem to be tracks of monstrous webbed feet, as well as small steps of something like a child, running towards the village. A perturbed look crosses Alfyn's face but is quickly gone. Prim silently places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Eventually, their party comes before the openings into the cave systems of Rhiyo. Before they entered very deep into the cave entrance, there is a loud croak that overcomes the sound of the river running nearby. It is followed by the sounds of something wet slapping about. The men stop and hold their lanterns up high. The light glints off the slimy, jewel-like orbs that are frog and snake eyes.

"Here they are..." Fredger growls.

Alfyn scans the group of enemies closing in around them. He sees the cave leads deeper inside, along the running water.

"The waterblooms are usually in the deeper caverns... We need to go past them."

"We'll take care 'o these froggen."

"Sadiq," Primrose says to the old man at her side, "Hold the fort here, ok?"

He nods and salutes stiffly before taking a stance with his spear, "Clear the way I shall!"

With a savage cry and a sweep of the polearm, he drives several of the monsters back, swatting others aside. The path onward is momentarily open. Alfyn, Therion and Prim slip through before the amphibious reptiles can regroup. They run on, away from the sounds of battle beginning.

"Frog at three 'o clock!"

Primrose throws one of her daggers, striking the ambusher deep in the stomach. It falls back and they rush past. Prim counts her remaining daggers silently, having not recouped the last one.

"How much further," Therion scans about warily, "They seem distracted at the door, for sure."

Alfyn pants a bit, "Not far... I came here sometimes with Zeph's old man to gather herbs."

Portions of the ceiling seem to be thin and eroded, allowing pale moonlight to drift in softly. Ahead, they see a large shaft of light beaming down on a cavern where the rocky ledges slope down to the river running by. There is plant life seen flourishing in the gentle light, and the great coils of some great serpent lying about it. Its skin is a color of orange and yellow, similar to those frog-snake hybrid creatures.

"That must be..." Alfyn draws his axe and steps closer.

The thing's head instantly rears and hisses vehemently, espying the trespassers. Suddenly, like a shroud of madness, they could hear something like a voice in their heads.

_Prepare to die, humans!_

Several other rather large serpentine creatures slither out. These are more clearly snakes, though there is a mix of some froggier ones among them. The main viper's body uncoils slightly, revealing more of those eggs Therion and Alfyn had seen earlier. Its red eyes glare down at the three.

_You... my children... YOU killed my children! For that, your own children shall PAY!_

Therion remembers that mocking look the frog gave him when it just dropped Nina and let itself be cut down by him. He growls and draws his blades, "You fucking..."

"Nina's done nothing wrong!" Alfyn, axe in one hand, spreads his arms a bit, "Hey if ya can talk, can't we do jus' that and talk this out?"

_Blood will be paid for in blood!_

The asps and smaller vipers lunge for the three.

Therion deftly nails one on the head with a quick strike of his dagger, cursing a bit, "Beasts don't negotiate, idiot!"

Alfyn swings a bit slowly, missing many, but driving them back nonetheless, "But...!"

"_The night calls..."_

The bunch that just retreated from the axe are suddenly blasted by a dark force and sent tumbling off into the waters below, where they scatter. Primrose's hand is enveloped in dark energies and her eyes are once again alight.

"... You're right. Blood can only be paid for in blood," Her eyes narrow, "And what you've done will be repaid dearly in full."

_My young will be avenged!_

With frightening speed, the great serpent suddenly slithers straight at the party. Prim sends a blast of dark magic at its face. It abruptly changes course, but its heavy tail swings and slams against all three of them, sending them flying against the hard cave walls.

"NGAH-" Therion coughs as he slumps down, his chest stinging harshly, having been previously bruised. He narrowly avoids the subsequent lunge from a mottled asp by ducking and then cutting the head right off with his sword.

Alfyn inadvertently squishes against Prim on the wall, as he leapt to protect her at the last second. They both land in a pile on the cave floor. Alfyn scrambles to regain his bearings.

"Ow..." Alfyn looks up to see a blood viper inches from his face.

"Kh... Alfyn!" Primrose pushes him out of the way. The serpent sinks its teeth into the hem of her dress but catches no flesh. She promptly stabs into its head.

_We will go and feast upon your village... and your women will bear our new brood..._

Primrose glares at the serpent with great malice at what it implies. Therion scowls and retakes his stance.

"You really just fucking animals, whether you talk or not..." The thief retakes a stance with his blades.

"Stand back for a second Alfyn..." Primrose says with a low voice.

"Uhh, guys...?" Alfyn looks a bit nervously at them, then at the serpent preparing to strike. His free hand slips into his bag and fingers one of the many vials inside.

With another great hiss, the snake lunges at the two before it. They easily split and sidestep the brash frontal assault. Primrose sees Therion stealthily make a shallow stab across the creature's side. It attempts to smash into him with a swing of its head. He half expects not to be able to dodge as he jumps anyway. A flurry of darkness trails his feet however, and he makes the jump easily with grace. Upon landing, he glances at Primrose. The dancer slings another dagger at the snake, with a motion like fluid dancing. As she does so, the thief not only feels lighter, but a feeling of strength comes to him as well.

"Don't mention it," Prim gives him a slight, snide smile on the side. He grumbles something incomprehensible.

The slung daggers slice into the snake's skin, making it rear and hiss as it pulls itself out of the indent in the wall it made when it missed Therion. The side of its body where Therion had shallowly stabbed seems to be corroded or molting and sloughing off.

"...Corrosives?" Primrose keeps her eye on the thing.

"I see its weaknesses," Therion tenses, eager to try out this new enhanced power.

Suddenly, some of the scattered snakes from before appear before the dancer and the thief. For the moment they are distracted, the big snake goes to strike.

"Guh-" Therion swears under his breath. He is probably going to be able to dodge it with the new speed. But the dancer-

"Guys, hold your breath!"

The two embroiled in the fight see the glint of moonlight on a glass as it sails across the air and lands on the big serpent's head, breaking with a delicate sound. A cloud blooms from the point of impact and envelops the cavern. Primrose and Therion quickly take a breath and hold it as Alfyn had instructed them. There is a loud cacophony rising around them, full of violent hissing. The air clears but a moment later.

The snakes seem to have been startled by that cloud. They act oddly, some attacking their own, others biting themselves or tying into knots. The great snake blinks with slight confusion, baring its fangs here and there.

_What have you done?! You...!_

Despite its dazed state, its tail thrashes and snags onto Alfyn, coiling him into its constriction.

"G-GYAA!" The apothecary struggles in the muscular death grip threatening to break his bones.

"Alfyn!"

"Tsk!"

Before they can go to the man's aid, the snake breathes a venomous vapor from its mouth and sprays the thief and dancer with it. They both flinch from the burning and stinging colloidal substance and the snake whacks them both back while they recoil from the gas. Therion cracks a stalagmite in his crash, and Prim is sent sprawling onto the shallow water nearby.

Therion shakes himself off, wheezing and growling. Then he sees the damn snake go for Prim.

"Oh come ON!" He scrambles to his feet and runs to intercept the attack. The speed she had granted him can be felt fading as his normal feeling of weight returns. His heart is pounding out of his throbbing chest. But he won't stop.

_Why...why the hell do I care..._

Primrose manages to pull her aching self together and look up. She sees Therion throw himself before the snake's maw. She hears Alfyn scream. Stop it... Stop it...

She saw Yusufa's dying body in the sands again.

No... not again.

"RRGH!" Her glowing red eyes flare with defiant determination.

Therion could feel the grazing prick of the fangs and the puncture when they break his skin. With a grimace, he jams his dagger into the snake's head as a last resort. There is a sudden dark gale, however, which blasts the snake head away before he could fully be chomped on. He doesn't let go of his dagger in time and is flung into a stalactite. After crashing down, he just lays there now. The snake hisses and hisses madly to no avail, slamming its head around the cavern to try and get rid of the pain embedded in its skull.

Alfyn sees Therion's prone form and pales, "Therion! Ghh-!"

He strains with all his might against the crushing grip of the coiled body. One of his lower ribs were definitely broken, but he doesn't care. The air suddenly feels cold in the cavern as his touch spreads frost along the snake's skin. In the cold, the skin bursts. The snake writhes from the frosty burn and relinquishes its hold on the apothecary, who runs to the thief's side.

_You... You heathens...!_

Primrose growls at the snake, a flurry of darkness encircling her, "Says the barbaric beasts!"

The serpent lunges to strike at her once more. She counters with a volley of dark magic. The snake evades several of the lashes, only to realize too late that the lashes were not for attacking, but restraining. Ethereal chains like that of darkness hold it captive and trussed to the ground despite its writhing. It spits venom wildly, violently trying to escape.

"Ngh..." Primrose repeatedly fixes any broken chains by nailing them down with her thrown daggers in a dancing motion. The strain of keeping this magic up is exhausting, "A-Alfyn! You need to kill it... now!"

Alfyn looks up at her plea. Swiftly, he grabs his fallen axe. A dull film of ice forms over its old blade, giving it a new, sharpened edge. With a cry, he runs to where the snake head is and brings down his weapon with all his might.

The blade hacks into the thick trunk, hitting the spine almost immediately. The next moment, there is a crack. The snake hisses loudly and spits at the dancer standing before it. Prim yelps and is thrown back by the sudden and forceful burst of air from the snake's breath. She falls off the ledge into the river, out of sight.

"Prim! Ugh-" Alfyn grapples with the serpent as its bonds begin to break, "C'mon, c'mon!"

He presses harder and harder onto the axe embedded in the snake's neck. Reptilian blood oozes and spurts as the snake flails wildly. Ice bursts from the wound like flowering icicles as Alfyn pushes all his energies into the swing.

Finally, there is a dull snap.

With a rattling hiss, the snake's body slowly goes limp as the gaping maw falls silent. There is further cracking as the old axe finally gives away from all the ice magic poured into it. The handle snaps in Alfyn's hands, and the blade seems to have cracked, embedded still in the flesh of the snake.

Alfyn's panting breaths come out in small puffs of vapor. His hands shake, still grasped stiffly onto the weapon handle. Sense returns to his numbed and tired body and his legs turn to jelly. But he wills his body to trudge to the ledge, tossing aside the handle and grabbing the fallen lantern. The snakes have snapped out of their confusion. But seeing their leader fall shatters their morale and they retreat into their holes, leaving the path open for Alfyn.

"Prim... Prim?!" He calls out as he peers over into the river. He sees the dancer's prone form lying among the rocky riverbank. Her upper body lies in the breaches of the shallow water, motionless.

_Did she hit her head...?_

The apothecary moves down to her side and gathers her in his arms. Despite his tired self, he can still carry her, being that she is rather light. Slowly, he hauls her over to where Therion hasn't moved an inch from where he lay. As he does, he takes note of some acidic burns from the snake's fumes and thanks Dohter that the water seems to have washed off most of it.

When he lays her down on the cave floor, she convulses and coughs up some water before taking some painful, heaving breaths. But she doesn't seem fully conscious yet. He sees a thin trickle of blood from her head. Other than some minor burns from the poison and bruising from the scuffle, she is not in terrible shape.

Alfyn now directs his attentions to Therion. He lifts the poncho to properly see the puncture wounds on his abdomen. The fangs seem to have gone mainly into his side, missing his stomach and liver. It luckily was not too deep or bloody of a wound, since the bite lacked all its intended force. But the pierced skin is turning a sickly hue of gray and green, just like with Nina's wound. The thief coughs, some blood rising to his lips as he groans.

"Don't worry, Therion..." Alfyn says breathlessly as he pulls out his portable mortar and pestle. He said that reassurance partially to himself as well as he stills his shaking hands, "I got just whatcha need..."

...

_The weak sun is beating down its sickly rays on the dull and stone hewn streets. The white-haired boy runs by with loaves of stolen bread in his arms. He's already this far away, and only then does the angry howl of the baker sound from the other side of town. Chuckling, he makes for the hideout._

"_Hehehe, not bad, Therion!" Darius greedily noshes on the fruits of their plunder, "I'll reckon we're good fer a few days after this."_

"_Probably. But I was thinking we could use some cider and new shoes," Therion looks down at his worn-out opanci, "The cobbler's a whiney ol' snitch."_

"_Pshaw, let's hit up the tannery then, eh? I'll reckon they won't miss a hide or two."_

_Old man Buford owned the only tannery in town. It constantly reeks of the curing solutions needed to preserve the animal skins and temper them for wear. The two tea leaves scurry around to the back entrance, where the rancher would usually haul in skins fresh from kills. They hold their breath slightly as they slip inside the establishment._

_There are a variety of tools here for the trade hanging on the walls. The large form of Buford lumbers into view and the two thieves hide behind a nearby barrel. They watch as the man starts to sharpen his tools. While he is occupied, they dash past him for the vat room._

_In the acrid-smelling enclosure, the little thieves cut down their pickings. Darius goes for a large swath, the biggest in fact. Therion cuts smaller patches off._

"_Got 'em? Ok, let's go."_

"_Darius, that's a bit heavy isn't it..."_

_The ginger shakes his head and just points for the door now. A bellow sounds from the front of the tannery. Refyn, Buford's assistant, spots them._

"_THIEVES!"_

_Therion and Darius make a mad dash for the back exit, only to be blocked by Buford, who stands menacingly at the doorway, filling it with his porcine shape. In his hand is a wicked looking knife. His eyes glimmer with malice at the children._

"_Why, they be mere babes... an' ya know what they says about them devils growin' up..."_

"_They need to be taught a lesson."_

Therion's visible eye flashes open. A hand goes to reflexively touch his covered eye. The scar from that knife throbs, or so he feels. His breath slows as he calms down a bit from the nightmare. The fear and adrenaline are replaced with disgust and some anger as the throbbing ebbs.

_I hope that old man burned in the afterlife..._

He now looks around a bit at his surroundings. He's on a bed back in Alfyn's house. Daylight streams in from the windows. The last thing he remembered was that dark gale that blew past him while he was in the jaws of the serpent. He sees Alfyn sitting on a chair nearby, head nodding. The idiot's asleep. Therion sighs loudly and feels lingering pain where the damn snake bit him. He thought he was quiet with the slight grunt, but Alfyn stirs anyway. He blinks his tired eyes at Therion, breaking into a dazzling smile.

"Hey Therion! You're awake!"

"No, I'm not. I'm just sleep talking with my eyes open."

"Hehe, you sore? Ah, I have some water. Ya must be parched!"

He helps Therion sit up and fetches some water for the thief. Therion looks down to see he isn't wearing a shirt anymore. Alfyn bandaged him up and left the clothes off so the wounds could breathe a bit. He doesn't see the dancer or Sadiq anywhere.

"...Where's the flashy one and the old man?" He asks as he drinks slowly.

"Oh, Prim went for a bit of a walk with Sadi a few hours ago."

"How long were we- was I out?"

"It's been about two days. Mebbe a bit less," Alfyn grins, "Ya recovered real nice, Therion! I was afraid for a minute that nasty venom would getcha."

"...So you saved the other girl too then?"

"Other... Oh, Nina? Yeah, she's fine. Fever broke yesterday and she woke up just this mornin'! We're havin' her take things slowly o' course but," Alfyn chuckles, "Seems everyone's pretty fine now!"

"What about the frogs and snakes?"

"Erm... Seems t' be less of 'em fer sure. Gretas an' the others came in after us and kinda dispersed 'em. Broke the main nest too."

"Good riddance," Therion scoffs and looks out to the road outside. His stomach gurgles, much to the thief's chagrin, and the apothecary's glee.

"Hehe, I got oats!"

…

There was a pretty big party in Clearbrook after the whole snake and frog fiasco. Figgs and Magg were running about the tavern supplying food and drink. Gertas was regaling other villagers with his version of events, and often arguing with Ulinor's interjections. Fredger seemed to have dealt with some of his demons through the copious amounts of liquor that rendered him a giggly mess. When Zeph finally walked in, everyone surprised him with a great yell. He looked near ready to faint from the recent stress. As he was being coddled by the other villagers over the events of the last few days, Alfyn grins and raises a toast. The dancer and thief join in the festivities a bit quietly.

"Is Nina asleep?"

"Y-yeah... Elnora's watching her and Lily both."

Alfyn pats his best friend on the back. Zeph had cried when he came back with the antivenom. His nerves were still pretty frayed from the experience as he sat by Nina dying, waiting for Alfyn to return. Alfyn worked double the shifts to keep an eye on Nina, Therion and Primrose after that kerfuffle in Rhiyo, as well as his usual patients.

"Those damn froggen'll think twice 'fore messin' with Clearbrook again!"

"Oh, oh, speakin' o' which!" Alfyn stands and thrusts out his tankard, "Another toast!"

He gestures at Primrose and Therion sitting beside him, "To my two friends from outta town! Without 'em I woulda probably ended up with waaay worse than these bruises!"

Therion slumps further into his seat, trying to disappear. Primrose smiles a little and sends a kiss or two towards some ogler. The tavern heartily raises its voices to Alfyn's toast.

And they all drank and made merry. Goren ended up so drunk that he tried proposing to Ulinor. Gertas was no better. Despite the scratch on his arm, he and Goren end up arm-wrestling for the old widow's affections. Amid the laughter at the spectacle, Primrose had slipped out into the night. She stands at the bridge where Fiona had jumped, looking up at the moon.

Therion walks over, having finally gotten away from the rowdy scene. He sits by the side of the bridge quietly. The both silently acknowledge each other's presence.

"...Thanks for that," Prim speaks first, "What you did back there in the cave."

Therion grunts. She tosses something to him. He catches it.

It's a dagger shaped from a snake's fang. The handle of a normal dagger is fitted onto the base. The fang itself is about the length of one's forearm, with a lightly tapered edge to the otherwise smooth body. But this thing wouldn't be any good for slashing anyway. Its deadliest feature is the sharp point where the fang is slightly hollow, meaning it has venom injection.

"... Where did you..."

"Alfyn removed both of the snake's fangs, but he only needed one to save you and Nina," was Prim's simple answer.

Therion tests the feel of it in his hand and holds it up by the moonlight. He does a few air jabs with it before giving a satisfied grunt and pocketing it away. "...Thanks."

They resume their silence. Then Alfyn comes skipping by out from the tavern.

"Whew! Hey, you guys are missing quite a party in there! Sadi's doing a neat jugglin' routine!"

"Is that so? Perhaps I should go and dance for them in there," Primrose laughs airily and goes to re-enter the pub, "You boys behave now."

"Hehehe... You tired, Therion?" Alfyn takes a seat next to the thief.

"It's stuffy. Go back on in. It's more your party than mine."

"You're just shy, ain'tcha?" He playfully pokes the thief. Therion rolls his eyes. Alfyn sighs and leans back with a slight look of contentment, "That whole thing in the cave... it's got me thinking."

"Oh yeah?"

"I wanna go on the road with you guys."

Therion looks at the apothecary with a slight start. But it doesn't take long for him to find his tongue, "I said we weren't traveling together."

"Well, why not? You and Prim work real well together! And ya can cover way more ground safely in a group!"

"I work alone," Therion grumbles.

"That sure doesn't mean ya gotta walk alone! C'mon!" Alfyn gently nudges him with an elbow.

"Did you even talk to her about this?"

"Uhh... I was gonna tonight!"

Therion rolls his eyes.

"So, whaddya say!"

"... I'm not gonna stop you if you coincidentally go my way," Therion sighs in exasperation.

Alfyn grins, "Well that sounds like a yes!"

"What in the hells do you want to go traveling for anyway? Aren't you needed here or something?"

"Well..." Alfyn runs a hand through his hair, "I realized that I gotta be loads stronger t' help people. Heck, Nina woulda died if y'all weren't helpin' me with that snake probably. And I still couldn't save Fiona..."

"...That girl was beyond your help. And you would've been fine in the caves," Therion rubs some of his own bangs with two fingers, "You had those guys helping. And you can use ice magic, can't you."

"Ehehe, so ya knew?" The apothecary chuckles sheepishly, "I thought ya were knocked out the whole time."

"Wasn't hard to guess from your cold touch and all."

"Yeah, I'm a Gate. Ain't much of a good one though, hehe. As far as makin' ice fer fevers an' coolin' down swelling, I can't do much more than that."

Those who use magic are sometimes colloquially called Gates, as in Gateways. It is believed that they serve as conduits for the latent powers of gods still in this world, hence the name. As stated before, they were rare, a diamond in the trough of humanity no matter how miniscule their powers seemed.

"But... other than that. I wanna help people outside o' Clearbrook, y' know?" Alfyn's eyes have a faraway look of something like a fond memory, "Like he did."

"...Your role model?"

"Yeah. You know the Great Pestilence?"

Therion nods. Who didn't? People just dying left and right from a ravenous illness said to have come from the gods as punishment for the sins of man... It wasn't something you needed an education to know about.

"Me and my pa were both struck with it when it came to Clearbrook. Nobody knew how t' cure it, and Zeph's old man was at the end of his rope. We were sure we'd all die..." Alfyn's voice drops slightly before regaining vigor, "But then this guy came to town outta nowhere! He had this cure that no one had ever seen, and he saved me."

Therion noted the starry-eyed look in the apothecary's eyes. He looks away slightly and says, "But your old man died, eh?"

"...Yeah. He did," Alfyn rubs the back of his neck, "I never saw that guy again, or even got his name. But what he did was inspiring. You know what he told me?"

"What." Therion full expects some sappy quote.

"He saw a guy in a bind and he helped. And that was it. He didn't charge us or anythin'... And that's what I think real apothecaries do, y' know?"

"Even if you end up dirt poor and starving, hm," Therion shrugs, "I guess if you don't mind living like that..."

"Hey!" Alfyn playfully punches him on the arm, "I ain't exactly hurtin' fer money! I make enough to get by!"

"Right, right... so you seriously want to go around traveling, helping people who're sick, and not collecting money. Do you know how much travel costs?"

"Well, no... But I can learn!" Alfyn gives him that can-do grinning attitude, "If yer younger than me and ya can do it, I got no excuse!"

"Yeah right. I'm 22," Therion states flatly.

"Oh... Wow, you're a year older than me!" Alfyn laughs with slight initial surprise, "Ya gotta eat more, Therion! On the road, I'mma make sure to feed ya more nutrition!"

"Oh gods, not those oats," Therion dramatically rolls his eyes.

…

That night, Prim could not sleep. She had taken the bed over again after Therion recuperated. Her necklace lies in her hand as she looks to her birthmark with her dagger as a mirror in the moonlight. The mark has spread again, extending another line out. It is not wholly noticeable, but her face shows worry. Perturbed, she steps out into the night to gaze up at the stars.

The raiment of Sealticge is not seen tonight.

"Couldn't sleep?" Alfyn trots up behind and sees her twitch slightly, "Oh, did I scare ya?"

"...Just a little, Alfyn."

When she had awoken after the cave fiasco, he told her he saw the birthmark spreading. She dismissed him yet again.

"Ah, shucks," He chuckles lightly, "Well, I can't sleep either. Even all that booze couldn't knock me out!"

He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. There is a pause before he speaks again, "Say, Prim?"

"Yes, Alfyn?" She doesn't fully look at him.

"I was thinking that we all could travel together. All four of us," He folds his arms behind his head, "Now, before ya say no, I already asked Therion and-"

"Alfyn. You don't know what you're getting into traveling with me..." She sighs, "I was reminded of that when we fought that viper."

"Eh, but that wasn't your issue. You guys were just helping me..."

"You had a worried face on the whole time, because you couldn't bear to see those who help you get hurt. It's no different for me. I can't have that in my way... my business... is something very cruel, Alfyn..."

Her voice is firm, toneless.

"Hey, don't worry. Me an' Therion can take care of ourselves no problem," Alfyn steps a bit closer to her, "But... are you alright?"

"...?" Primrose turns to look at him, impassive, "Fine, why do you ask?"

"Well, because it sounds like ya got some huge burden t' carry... I was wonderin' if ya'd like to just chat and get through it, at least for now..."

Primrose searches his body language and face for a reason or an answer, anything. A reason and answer to why he could see through her like this. He had none of the guile and deceit of most men, nor was he cynical and nasty like that thief. He wasn't manipulative … He was just open. She closes her eyes and sighs bitterly.

"It's not business you should get into lightly, Alfyn," She mutters, "You could get hurt."

"Hey, c'mon, we're jus' chattin," He reassures her.

She looks down and inhales. He asked for this.

"... The reason I'm traveling … the people I'm looking for... I want to kill them. They... murdered my father 10 years ago. I lost everything," She tries to keep it brief as she recalls these painful memories, "For 10 years I endured this line of work and became a willing slave to men just to find the murderers. And now that I have a scent, I will track them to the ends of the realm and end them."

Now Alfyn seems a bit stunned to silence. Prim sighs.

"See, it's not pleasant. And you would only get involved unnecessarily..."

"... Gee, Prim," Alfyn takes a breath and starts, "If we're going north, Therion says we oughta go about the south of Middlesea and detour around."

Primrose blinks at his comment in surprise. Had he just ignored her story?

"Did you... did you hear what I just said about traveling together?"

"Yeah, totally!" Alfyn folds his arms, "That's why I'll protect you!"

That momentarily takes her unawares. Her eyes widen. "You'll... protect me?"

"You and Therion. I know I'm kinda a greenhorn compared to the two of ya, but I ain't a slacker! An' I know ya definitely didn't have cakewalks in life until now... So I'm gonna come along t' help ya both!" He flashes that confident smile, "I wanna help everyone across the realm!"

Prim doesn't have any response to that. In her head, that image flashes by, along with that voice.

"_We're... friends, right?"_

"Alfyn..." Primrose lowers her voice. A small breeze blows by. Her voice quivers just slightly, "Are we... friends?"

"Yeah! You and Therion are my friends!"

Her hands clench at her sides for a second. She had been bracing for the rejection. He surprised her once again, though she shouldn't have been taken unawares this time. This is just the kind of person he is… Quickly, she turns away and looks up at the starry skies once more. She speaks, trying to keep her voice level, "I think the idea of going south is fine."

"Hehe, great!" Alfyn smiles. They both see a star pass overhead against the backdrop of the starry cosmos.

By the doorway of Alfyn's house, Therion can't help but smirk at no one in particular.


	8. Chapter 8: New Friends, Old Enemies

At the crack of dawn, Alfyn went to see his mother's grave one last time before he was to leave. The bluish sky contrasted beautifully with the green of the surrounding nature awakening to morning's light.

"Hey, ma," He smiles fondly as he places a small bloom on the ground before the tombstone, "I'm leaving Clearbrook today, and going out to the big wide world. Hehe, I can hardly wait...! I have my new friends, Therion and Prim to thank for helping me save Nina. Oh, and Sadi. He's so funny, and the things he says...! I think you woulda liked 'em, ma."

There is only a slight breeze in response. It tugs slightly at the tails of his green vest.

"Alf!"

The dirty blonde turns around to see a smiling Zeph trot up to him. He seems loads better now, like a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

"Heya, Zeph!" Alfyn grins, "Good t' see yer well again!"

"Well, it's all thanks to you."

"Aw shucks," Alfyn rubs the back of his neck, "Is Nina up an' about?"

"She's bored at home," Zeph chuckles, "But she and Lily are doing swell now. I still can't thank you enough Alf..."

"Hey, a job well done is its own reward! Didn't I say?" Alfyn chuckles along, "You guys are family."

"Heh... haa..." Zeph puts his hands on his hips and looks up towards the sky, "So, you're setting out then?"

"... Yeah. I'm gonna go and help cure people across the realm. Don't get me wrong, I love all of you guys here. You, Gretas, Figgs-"

"Alfyn, I get it," Zeph cuts his rambling short with a knowing smile, "You'd do a lot more good out in the world. I just know it."

Alfyn is momentarily stunned. Slightly flushed, he grins at his best friend and rubs the back of his neck, "Shucks... thanks, Zeph..."

"Don't think you'll get away without everyone hounding you about leaving though."

"Hehe, I would figure! Ol' Goren's gonna be pretty mad I broke that old ax he gave me..." Alfyn glances to the side, towards a new tombstone that was recently erected.

"...Fred's calmed down now, y' know?" Zeph traces his gaze and rests his eyes on the new grave as well, "That fighting musta done him some good."

"Yeah..." Alfyn murmurs quietly, chewing on a blade of grass tucked between his teeth, "I just wanna be sure I'm strong enough that … no one else ends up like she did."

"You'll be fine, Alf," Zeph looks back to the other's face, suddenly a bit sheepish as he draws a breath, "Listen I... I know everyone thinks that just because I was the old apothecary's son and I was born the month of Dohter that I'm the brains behind the whole operation here..."

Alfyn tilts his head a bit as he looks to Zeph to finish.

"But the truth is... you're the real apothecary, Alf. All I can do is watch your back with our expenses and all," Zeph laughs, slightly blushing, "You're amazing at what you do Alf. Don't ever doubt that."

Alfyn stares a bit at Zeph's words. Without warning, Zeph feels enveloped as Alfyn wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace in response. Zeph's eyes grow wide at first. Then he settles into the hug and returns it, burying his nose in Alfyn's scent.

"... You need to use more soap when you wash your clothes, Alf..."

"Heheh, thanks Zeph," Alfyn maintains the hug for a bit longer before letting the other go, but keeping his hands on his shoulders so they both face each other. Both their eyes are a little red-rimmed, "I'll be back! And I'll be an even better apothecary by then!"

"Don't think I'm gonna slack either...!" Zeph wipes his nose indignantly, "I'll be watching over Clearbrook until you come back... and I'll be better by then too!"

They both break into smiles. Zeph surprises Alfyn by taking off his satchel and handing it to Alfyn.

"Eh? Zeph..."

"You remember what my dad said right? Dohter made it the symbol of apothecaries to carry these satchels around. We were both like darn fools, smiling all week after we got these..." Zeph smiles fondly at the memory, "I want you to take mine, Alf. Take it with you. It'll be like I'm always beside ya then."

Alfyn felt the immense weight this action held. Hells, this was made by Zeph's old man. It was his own back in his younger days. He grasps the old leather and stares at it, unblinking, with a somber air.

"Zeph..." Without thinking, he unslings his own satchel and hands it to the other, "Then take mine!"

"Huh?"

"What, you wanna be an apothecary with no satchel?" Alfyn grins, "Plus, this way a bit of me stays here with you guys!"

Zeph takes the satchel in a similar manner as Alfyn did his. Clutching it to his chest slowly, he looks up at Alfyn with a soft grin. "Thanks, Alf."

"Hehe, plus, I bet mine has all the best pickings since I spend all that time out gathering..."

"Oh, showing some pride now, Alfyn?" Zeph playfully punches his shoulder. Alfyn returns that by giving him a few noogies. They play around for a few amid the graves. Meryl strides up to them with her hands on her hips, which is when they finally think to stop.

"My goodness, the two of you are like children!" She huffs. In her hand is a small bucket of rags for her daily chore of cleaning the graves.

"Hehe, last day in Clearbrook, Mer..." Alfyn sits up from the dirt where they were play-wrestling, "I'm gonna miss you guys."

"Well..." Meryl's features soften slightly, "I always knew futures lay outside this backwater village..."

"Ouch, I didn't mean it like that, Meryl! Sheesh!"

"I'm happy for you Alf!" Meryl sighs exasperatedly, "You're traveling with those strangers from last night, aren't you?"

"They're my friends," Alfyn rubs the back of his neck, "If it wasn't for them, I mighta never gotten the courage to step out."

"Well I hope they know how lucky they are, having one of our best apothecaries go off to join them..." Meryl adds the next bit cheekily, "Even if he may wear a hole in their purses."

Zeph laughs as Alfyn stutters for a response.

"Be safe, Alf."

"Shucks, don't hafta tell me twice!"

…

Alfyn spent all of the following morning saying his goodbyes to everyone in Clearbrook. First was the watering hole where Ulinor was starting a new day.

"You'll be back soon, you'll see!" The widow waggled a finger in his face, "The world's just not safe these days!"

"Well, I'm still young, Ulinor..." Alfyn chuckles nervously.

"Hrmph! And in such a hurry to run into danger!"

Next, he went to the bar, where he had spent more than a couple of lonely nights at. Magg had gone to restock after the huge party last night, but Figgs was present.

"I guess we got one less fisher 'round here," Figgs gives a defeated smile.

"Hehe, Gretas was always sure I kept the biggest for myself anyway..."

"Yeah, he's a real sourpuss. Betcha he'll be complainin' about you leavin' tomorrow!"

At the lumber house, Alfyn thinks back to when he had first even picked up the weapon. Yes, he had spent many a day chopping wood alongside the other men before he was allowed to go off on monster-ridden trips to the surrounding wilderness.

"Hmph! Well of course you wanna leave, dontcha? Got those silly city people tellin' you all sortsa wacky things," Gretas grumbles with his armful of lumber, "Go on then, git! Forget alll about us here that watched ya from when y' were a babe!"

Goren blows an exasperated puff of air up to ruffle his bangs, "We'll be missin' ya, Alf. An' ya better get some replacement fer that axe ya broke!"

"Ehehe, I'll pay ya back when I return-"

"Not fer me, ya twit! It's a dangerous place out there!" Goren folds his arms and looks down at the young man, "And ya need yer weapons t' face all them monsters these days, gods know."

"Hmf, ye'll get snapped up like a twig anyways," Gretas mutters loud enough to be heard, "Yer always too busy takin' care o' everyone else under the sun thatcha don't even-"

Goren laughs boisterously, "He means good luck and be careful."

Alfyn grins, "Gotcha."

As he passes the bridge, he espies Magg setting up the nets with the mayor and his wife nearby on the riverbank pier.

"Heya, Magg!" Alfyn runs over, "Early bird gets the fish?"

"You bet! Though these be mighty shrimpy catches," Magg snorts at the poor pickings.

"Heya, Henry, Ysabel," Alfyn looks to the mayoral couple.

"Alfyn, good to see you, my boy," Ysabel pinches his cheek like a grandmother might, "Morning run?"

"Naw, I'm just saying goodbye."

"Whatever for?"

"I'm gonna be leavin' Clearbrook for a while. Not forever, though," Alfyn takes a slight breath, "I'll be back a better apothecary after I've helped more people."

"... Tis a fine dream, Alfyn," Mayor Henry nods, "Try not to get eaten by the wild beasts eh?"

"Good luck to the beasts who try!" Magg laughs, "Ol' Alf here has the strength of an aurochs!"

Alfyn then makes his way to Elnora's. Nina and Lily are still asleep, the former having stayed the night. He gives the both of them a hug in their sleep before whispering his good-byes to Elnora, and making his way to Fredger's.

The man's house was empty when he knocked. No one answered. The windows showed no light. Alfyn pauses outside his door and puts a pensive finger to his chin. Where could he be?

"Alf? You're still here?"

He turns to see Meryl. She's already done with her grave duty.

"Well I wasn't about to leave without sayin' goodbye t' everyone!" Alfyn points at the door, "Y' know where Fred is?"

"Fredger? Oh, I saw him coming up the hill by the time I was done…"

"Alright, thanks, Mer!" Alfyn throws her a smile before running off back to the grave hill. She sighs and shakes her head slowly as she goes to return home. Something comes down by the river that catches her eye, glinting off the morning light.

Meanwhile Alfyn trots along back full circle to the graves. Zeph has already gone to do his rounds by now. He finds Fredger standing there at the new grave. In his hand is the silver halberd, now reduced to just the metal top part. The wooden end had snapped amid the fighting. He does not turn at the sound of Alfyn approaching.

"… Hey, Fred."

"Oh, Alfyn," The older man turns with a tired face to the apothecary, "Did you need something…?"

"Naw, jus' sayin' goodbye t' everyone in the village," Alfyn spreads his hands to his sides, "I'm leavin' today."

"Really? Where to? You've nary stepped foot off the Riverlands…"

"I know! And soon I'll be in the Sunlands! I can hardly wait! Hehe…" Alfyn rubs the back of his neck as his eyes rest once more on the new headstone, "… So, how're you holdin' up, Fred?"

Fredger manages a sad smile as he also looks to the name etched on the face, "… I miss her, Alfyn. Terribly."

"… Yeah. We all do. She was probably the bravest one o' the village girls here…" Alfyn lifts his eyes to peer at Fredger, "…You think you'll manage?"

"…Oh I'll manage Alf," Fred chuckles, "I always manage to. Somehow. I'm not sure if it's some cosmic joke but… I've always managed."

Alfyn remains quiet for a little. Fred never married, but he had a sweetheart. She died before he could propose to her, from the pestilence. Malleus lost his wife in the same way, leaving him with Fiona. Since he was on the village watch, Fred ended up caring for Fiona a lot. When Malleus died, Fred grieved in the same way as when he'd lost his lover. And now for him to lose Fiona too…

"_You helped me after all. It was your presence and words."_

Wordless, Alfyn goes up to stand before the stone, next to Fredger.

"…Ah, I never quite thanked those friends of yours, Alf," Fredger draws a slight sigh, "They were instrumental in this, weren't they…"

"Don't discount yourself, Fred!" Alfyn gives him a rough smack on the back with an encouraging grin, "Magg said you were a total beast in the caves!"

Fredger chuckles at the compliment, lowering his eyes, "I was just so angry. In the same day… to lose Fiona and for Zeph to lose Nina as well? I couldn't fathom it… I couldn't have that happening … my hands were shaking with rage then …"

A soft breeze blows by, lightly teasing both their ponytails.

"… And now, I feel nothing," Fredger looks to his hands, one with the silver weapon, "I have murdered those monsters and their nest. But Fiona will never return."

Alfyn reaches an arm up his back and heartily pats his shoulder, giving a firm shake. He grins and looks to the tombstone, "Heya, Fiona. Jus' came to say goodbye here."

"Y' know we miss ya. An' Fred here's all broken up about it. So much, that I'm 'fraid he can't take care o' himself no more!" He continues the casual conversation to the grave, "So, I say he should smile a bit more, right? Else, how're you gonna pass peacefully? Hehe… Watch over 'im fer me until I get back, 'kay Fiona?"

He looks to Fredger with a smile. The older man's eyes are slightly wide and watery. He seems to sniffle a bit as he struggles to gather his words. Another breeze blows by, carrying with it some leaves and stray blades of grass. One leaf sticks to Fredger's head before fluttering onward. His eyes gaze at the leaf as it flutters away.

"Alf…" He murmurs breathlessly.

"Hehe, I think you'll be fine, Fred."

"Heya, Fred!" Ulinor and the local upstart Tommy come up, "There ya are! Oh, an' Alf!"

"Huh? Oh, what's up, guys?" Alfyn and Fred turn to meet them.

"Well, nothing for your ears, since yer leavin'!" Tommy turns his nose upward at Alfyn, "Me mum's jus' thinkin' o' invitin' Freddy here t' dinner!"

"I wanted to see if you were keeping up your house right, but the door was closed," Ulinor says sternly to Fredger, "Alephan knows, you aren't the best of housekeepers."

"Uh… T-Thank you…" Fredger is quite tongue tied at this point.

Alfyn grins. The village would care for him. They always did for one of their own. His job was done. As he made himself scarce and turned to go, Fredger stops him and thrusts the silver halberd head in his hands.

"E-eh?"

"Take it. Your own ax broke right? I'll reckon this'll serve just as well," Fredger smiles and now pats Alfyn on the shoulder, "Take care."

"…Shucks…" Alfyn can feel a lump in his throat build already. He grips the weapon shaft, feeling it to indeed be very similar to an ax. And then he just hugs Fredger.

"And I suppose I should be keeping watch over your house as well whilst you're gone, Alfyn!" Ulinor sighs and shakes her head, "Gods, I should have become an official housekeeper..."

They share a laugh. Another breeze blows and rustles the grasses with a gentle noise.

…

Therion munches on the apple that someone actually gave him this time. It tasted the same. He leans back on the wooden fence looking out to the field where rabbits were coming out of their warrens as it neared midday. His hand flutters a bit under his poncho to feel for the handle of that dagger Primrose had given him last night. This morning had been rather leisurely for him. While Alfyn was out running like a mad man saying his goodbyes, Therion just went to the local blacksmith. Indeed, he learned, Primrose had gone to see him while the thief was still recuperating. She'd managed to provide materials from an existing dagger to make this one, thereby reducing the cost.

Ridiculous. This entire village should be the ones paying them after that fiasco.

He picks out the stem before popping the core into his mouth. As he munched, Primrose saunters up from the town square. Sadiq follows behind her, saluting like a scout as they approach.

"Almost time to go," Prim lightly curls a lock of hair around her finger, "We should be able to reach the Sunlands much faster this time around. And easier."

"The idiot's been running around like a chicken without its head," Therion scoffs slightly, "It'll be a miracle if we even get to leave before dinnertime."

"That's just the kind of person he is," Prim shrugs with a helpless smile. She was pretty much broke now, having spent all her leaves on the dagger, and then food and water, which Sadiq is carrying for her.

"It's funny," She chuckles, twirling the lock of hair, "Who would have thought you would be so on board to travel together? Especially after you were so adamant that our destinations are different."

"Different destinations, same general direction. Happy?" He grunts somewhat irritably. She merely laughs.

"Hey guys!"

They both turn to see Alfyn running up to them with armfuls of parcels. A silver ax is strapped on his side alongside his dangling satchel. He pauses to catch his breath when he finally approaches.

"… What, did you sell your house and buy all this stuff?" Therion looks at the stuff with an appraising eye. A lot of it was rations. There's a woven blanket, a scarf, spare waterskins… "That's a lotta crap to carry."

"Nonsense, Therion," Primrose smiles, "These are gifts, aren't they?"

"Hehe, yeah, from all the folks wishin' me off," Alfyn grins, "We're well prepared now!"

"Let Sadiq help you with some of that… Sadiq?"

"Oh, thanks a bunch, Sadi," Alfyn chuckles as the old man takes some of the burdens off his hands, "So, we ready t' go?"

"We were waiting for you," Therion sighs and gets off the fence post, readjusting his scarf. He starts down the road out of town.

"Hehe, whoops!" The apothecary scratches his head sheepishly. Therion rolls his eyes.

"Shall we then?" Primrose follows after the thief.

"Yeah!"

They walk down the road out of town. As they near the limit, they pass the overturned wheelbarrow where they had first entered. It was where Prim had found Fiona that night. Alfyn pauses to place down something by the roadside. It's a waterbloom whose petals have frozen to make a beautiful flower of ice.

He straightens and takes one more glance back at the town where he was born and raised, seeing the rooftops where he'd pulled many a stupid prank as a bratty kid. The town where Melody's stubborn grandfather would still be smoking his pipe, and Zeph would have to take care of his cough; where Ulinor would always be telling her exaggerated tales, and Gertas always finding something to grumble about; where Meryl would probably weave flower crowns with the youngsters when she wasn't doing chores… The town where the hill with the graves rises before the caves in the distance. Up on that hill, on the tombstone… beside his mother's name…

"Hey, Alfyn! Don't get left behind!" Primrose calls to him from down the road.

"Oh, coming!"

He runs down the road to join the others and does not look back again.

…

Therion was already feeling a bit of regret at their decision to take this apothecary along. He talked a lot. He also loved to stop along the road to examine some plant or other that could have medicinal properties. Luckily, there seemed to be less frogs around this time around as they walked, so there weren't as many creatures trying to catch them unawares.

"Whew, those river wasps were somethin' weren't they?" Alfyn wipes some sweat from his brow.

They had just run into a small swarm of the bugs, supersized by the pristine breeding environment and abundance of food. They shared a similar weakness for heavier weapons like the assassin bug, but they could freaking fly. Therion is slowly rethinking his original idea about the assassin bugs being a bigger pain.

"Ah, Twin Falls!" Alfyn points at a mountain formation deeper near the woods. A raised platform of rocks leads off the trodden path and past some trees to where the cave entrance should be.

"Hm, have you been there, Alfyn?" Primrose tosses a rather uncaring glance there.

"Naw, but we heard a lot about nasty stuff happenin' there t' travelin' folks."

Therion grunts. They were nearing the bridge where the giant salamander was. He hoped it remained asleep like it had been a few days ago.

"H-Help…!" A voice calls out from the direction of the Falls.

Therion almost wanted to kick himself when Alfyn immediately goes running in the direction of the cry. Primrose follows him, and Sadiq with her. The thief finds his own feet moving to run after the apothecary.

"This could be a trap…!" He growls.

"Someone needs help!" Alfyn says in response. What a saint.

They luckily needed not go far from the path. Leaning against a tree is a young man with light blonde hair in a ponytail, dressed in a dark blue cape. He is pale and sweating, panting harshly. At the sound of their approach, he looks up blearily at them. Behind him, Primrose sees a cave opening. In the air is perhaps what may be a trick of the light, appearing to be silvery dust floating about.

"Ugh…"

"Hang on, we gotchu…" Alfyn quickly throws the strangers arm over his own shoulder as he lets him lean onto his side, "You wounded?"

"N-no, my legs just… suddenly wouldn't move…"

"Alright, let's get you by the river to take a look," Alfyn looks to Therion, "Can you take his other side?"

Therion opens his mouth to object. Then he acquiesces and takes the stranger's other arm. His dexterous hands graze over the clothes under the cloak. This guy's a pauper, nothing worth stealing. Therion sighs inwardly.

"Thank you…"

"No problem. What's your name?"

"I'm Kit…"

"Neat! I'm Alfyn!"

As they make their way out of the side path, Primrose tosses one final gaze at the cave opening and the silvery stuff hovering in the air near it. If she listens closely, there is the sound of what might be the beating of wings inside. Her eyes turn reddish slightly and pierces the darkness. A pair of large, magenta compound eyes like that on a bug stare back at her. She turns and goes to follow the others quickly.

Back at the riverside, Alfyn and Therion lay Kit in the grass. His body is now completely limp and he seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. His breathing is also rather slow. Alfyn looks over him with an expert eye. Therion, Primrose and Sadiq stand by.

"… Aha…" He traces a finger along Kit's clothes, inspecting residues, "Powder… numbing, most likely. Yer lucky y' didn't inhale more of it. This stuff really paralyzes the central nervous system…! From the color … I'd say it was like the monarch's?"

The apothecary takes out a dusty tome from inside his messy satchel. Therion glimpses a mess of vials and herbs inside. The book Alfyn opens has "Zeph" scribbled on the inner cover.

"…Yep, monarch numbness scales… You'll be fine, Kit. We'll just need to give you a bath and wash all this stuff off your clothes…" Alfyn says reassuringly, "I guess that's what's in the cave. A monarch."

"Unh… Ok… I shouldn't have… gone in the cave I guess…"

"Hehe, well, hindsight's the best vision, eh? Alright, let's get you cleaned up…"

The party spends the few minutes or so undressing Kit's outer layers and washing them in the stream. Primrose notes silently that some fish floated up when they finally got all that dust off the cloak. As for Kit himself, Alfyn splashed his face with icy water, which seemed to shock him awake well enough for the rest of the cleaning.

"Hehe, there we go! Y' should be regainin' some feelin' in your body now."

Kit sits up and smiles sheepishly, "Thank you so much for your help… I don't know if I would've survived a night paralyzed like that."

"Here," Alfyn gives him something that looks like a chunk of ice with something green inside.

"What is it?" Kit takes it and looks at it apprehensively.

"It's a healing grape leaf I put on ice! Ya can suck on it a bit and it should help with aches and pains."

"…Thank you Alfyn…" Kit looks to the others, "And you all as well. Thank you for your help."

"Are you traveling alone, Kit?" Primrose looks the young man over. He was probably a bit too young, honestly, "It's not that safe going alone these days."

"Yeah, you want to come with us?" Alfyn grins.

Therion could have done a cartwheel hearing Kit refuse.

"I shan't take your time any longer, but I have a ways yet to go, and for now it seems I must go alone," Kit sighs, "But perhaps we may meet another time in this Realm."

"Oh. Well alright, Kit," Alfyn smiles anyway, "You take care of yourself alright?"

Kit nods. He picks up his wet cloak and waves as he proceeds to go down the road, in the direction the party had come from. Alfyn waves and scratches his head. Therion gives him a good conk on the back of it, much to his surprise.

"Therion!" Primrose chides.

"Ow! W-What was that for, Therion?" Alfyn whines.

"Don't just go running off like that, idiot!" Therion growls irritably, "What if that was a trap?!"

"Well I can't just ignore a call for help! That defeats the purpose o' me comin' out to the world!"

"Great, just try to think a bit next time before we land in a nest of bandits," Therion rolls his eyes, "And don't just go around asking if people want to come along. We aren't baby-sitters."

Alfyn pouts. Primrose puts a gentle hand on his shoulder as she playfully swats at Therion's bangs with her other hand. He gives her a stink-eye in response, which she brushes off with a clear laugh.

"Come on you two, this wasn't the worst outcome. We helped someone and we aren't far from the Sunlands at all. If we reach there by night, we'll have to push on ahead. Night is when its most bearable in the sands after all."

They resume walking. The pout on Alfyn clears up rather fast when Primrose asks him about the grape leaf he had given Kit.

"Well, it's from the same plant I got essence for the oats for, y' know? 'Fore we left, I made sure to get the whole thing pulled up, as well as all my medicines, cuz ya never know what ailments are on the road!"

"Uh huh… I noticed that book you had in there wasn't yours," Therion mentions offhandedly.

"Ah, yeah, Zeph an' I swapped satchels so we'd always have a piece of each other's company on the road, hehe…" Alfyn rubs the back of his head and smiles fondly, "'Course I'm well prepared! We both have a lotta the same basic ingredients, but I just got a bunch more… and we aren't even outta the Riverlands yet!"

He has a healthy mouth at least, Therion thinks.

Alfyn pulls out his book, filled with Zeph's neat notes. Apparently, they were from Zeph's father. Alfyn begins listing off numerous tonics and brews from the pages swimming in words, whether the others listened or not. Therion tunes him out while Prim occasionally nods. Sadiq is busy watching out for butterflies.

"And this is addlewort," Alfyn points at a pressed specimen, "If y' ever feel dizzy, it'll clear up yer head real quick with a swill!"

"How useful."

"'Course ya should always also have some mugwort in case ya feel fatigue! Sometimes takin' the right medicine leaves ya real drained as ya recover! And there's even this herb…"

… Maybe too healthy, Therion now thinks.

When they come to the bridge, Therion nearly forgot about the salamander amid Alfyn's enthusiastic banter. A low groaning alerts him to the danger under the wooden boards.

"JUMP!"

Primrose, as quick of reflex as the thief, pulls Alfyn with her as she dives for the other side of the bridge. Therion and Sadiq make the jump as well, just as the bridge center is smashed into splinters with a large flailing tail from the water. The rounded head of the giant salamander peeks out and it gives a wide yawn. However, it does not come out of the water to pursue them.

"W-woah…" Alfyn can only gawk as the amphibian slowly slides back into the waters.

Therion sighs in relief and takes his hand off his sword, "…Let's keep going."

…

By the time they reached the bridge marking the Riverlands border, it was indeed nighttime for a while already, as Primrose calculated. Across the bridge, they could see the shadows of the dunes against the night sky and feel the change of atmosphere into a drier climate. Primrose yawns a bit, as does Alfyn. Therion barely rubs his eyes.

"Careful you don't get a mouthful of sand," Therion draws his scarf about his head and makes sure to partially cover his face.

"Ah, I got a scarf in here, if anyone needs…" Alfyn digs around his bulging satchel.

"I'll be fine, Alfyn," Primrose chuckles slightly, "I have lived here for about ten years after all…"

Sadiq walks on in silence. A strange look had come over him as they returned to the land of sandy winds. But it did not seem to be lucidity. It looked like a man stranded at sea had just returned home for the first in a long time.

"I don't think we'll be able to span the whole thing in a night," Therion says as they walk about the shifting sands, "We'll be traveling at night, when the critters are out. Maybe three days at least before we even reach the Highlands."

"Ain't there a town or city nearby we can stop at?" Alfyn stands atop a dune briefly to gaze about before hopping down. He yelps a bit as the soft sand gives away under his feet and he rolls to the base. Therion smirks a bit.

"… Yes. Sunshade," Primrose says barely above a whisper, "We can pick up supplies there."

"…You sure about that?" Therion side-eyes her. He himself is not too worried about going, since he can keep a low profile. But this flashy princess dancer would be recognized at a glance, having danced at the tavern full of gazers for so long. The city could be full of regulars. And with the fat man dead… well, who knows what's changed or what they may have assumed from her coincidental disappearance? Did they ever even find all those bodies from that bloody night?

Primrose does not meet his eye, instead jumping off the dune and walking onward. In the distant horizon, the slightest glimmer of light is visible. She knew it was not the sun, but the light of Sunshade's night life.

It did not take long for the party to stumble upon the familiar opening of the catacombs. The wind seems to have blown away and shifted any signs of blood. However, even in the dark, Therion could glimpse silhouettes of something like armor half buried in the sand by the moonlight. There is also a stench that the wind cannot dispel. These bodies have been baking in the sun for the last few days, exposed to the elements. Primrose could see the marks in the sand where the local monsters had happened upon the carnage and likely feasted.

"Uah-!" Alfyn trips blindly over something. Therion catches his arm before he topples over.

"Thanks…"

"…Watch your step," Therion does not look to that half-buried bone sticking out of the sand.

"Gee the stars sure are nice out here, hehe…" Alfyn looks up appreciatively as they keep walking. He points to the nearer light drowning out the cosmos, "Hey, a town! Izzat Sunshade?"

Primrose pauses in step. She looks around and sees it: the mound. Wordlessly, she diverges from them a little to go to it. She does not kneel before the pile of sand, instead standing in front of it quietly. Therion watches as she is still as a statue, save her dress fluttering amid the desert night wind. Alfyn glances over as Sadiq goes to join her.

"Huh? Prim? Sadi?"

"… Ah, just a minute, Alfyn…" Prim says softly.

Therion bites back his words to just wait as Alfyn walks to the two before the impromptu grave. The moonlight illuminates the unnatural mound's presence to him. Once he is closer, he finally seems to understand.

"… Are you alright, Prim?"

"… Yes, Alfyn. I'm fine."

"Was this someone … a friend? A family member?"

"A friend," Prim smiles a little to herself, "…My best friend in all of Sunshade. Her name was Yusufa."

"Gee, I woulda liked to meet her. M' sure I woulda liked her too," Alfyn smiles softly and places a hand on the dancer's delicate shoulder.

"Yes. You are very much like her, after all," Primrose laughs a little, "You are both very kind."

"Aw shucks…"

Sadiq had been standing rather motionlessly, staring at the grave with a lost expression. Primrose puts a hand on his back and rubs gently.

"Do you still remember her, Sadiq…?"

"… Yes... but just a little."

…

Therion insisted that they not go straight into town just yet. Primrose leads them to a place called the Whistling Cavern just east of the city, where they could take temporary refuge whilst they plotted their course of action. Eventually, it was decided that Therion and Alfyn would go into town and buy supplies while Primrose and Sadiq stayed by the cavern mouth since they were probably more at risk of being recognized.

"Ya sure ya don't wanna come, Prim?" Alfyn grips his satchel strap, "Could be mighty dangerous 'round here at night."

"I'll be fine, Alfyn... I just don't think I'm... welcome to return there," Primrose sighs and rubs her eyes, "You know what I need right?"

"Yep! We'll be back in a jiffy!"

"Alfyn... do be careful," Primrose looks to the thief with a tired but firm expression, "Stay by Therion."

Alfyn nods and he and Therion begin walking away from the cave. He didn't like the idea of leaving Prim and Sadi back there. The cave mouth gave him a bit of the creeps. True to its name, the desert wind would make whistling noises as it blew in and out of the place. But there was also sounds of other things in there.

"She'll be fine. Sadiq has the strength of a beast," Therion says as they shuffle about the sands. Dawn's light is already upon them.

"I just can't believe she can't go back in her hometown!" Alfyn sighs and half-yawns, "I mean, that's gotta be … well..."

"Remember what I said? She worked in the brothel here. Not exactly pleasant memories, I'll bet," Therion recalls the ugly fat man and the work the dancers had to perform.

"I-I guess..." Alfyn swallows slightly, "Makes me wonder what kinda city this is..."

"Just keep your bag about and follow me. Don't make a scene, and don't go to the tavern."

"Ok, ok… Ya seriously ain't even the least bit tired, Therion?" Alfyn yawns again, "Boy I could use a bed at the inn right about now..."

"Well too bad. You get used to sleepless nights on the road."

The apothecary groans and nods. They come to the town entrance's dusty steps as the morning sun is beating down mercilessly. Therion scans the morning crowd as he passes in. Still no guards at the gates. People dressed with headscarves and covers walk about like last time. The bazaar ahead seems to be picking up for morning sales. So far, the same. Alfyn is looking about like some wide-eyed toddler in a candy store. He'd never been to a place so big with so much. It woke him straight up from his sleepiness.

But then he sees the women. They were dressed in those drab green dresses, meaning they were dancers. There is a line of them being led by someone in that armor Helgenish's lackeys wore. The dancers all have a rope collar about their necks that connected them to the other. They look absolutely miserable. Alfyn stares with disbelief as the procession is led past them, his previous starry-eyed expression gone.

"...I can't say for sure that's new," Therion mutters, "C'mon, don't stare. I wanna be out of here soon."

"W-what were they doing with them like that?" Alfyn follows the thief as they weave through the goers on the streets to the waking bazaar, "That looked goshdarn awful..."

"None of our business. We just came to pick stuff up for the road," Therion sighs as his eyes go to vulnerable pockets. He instantly nabs an apple from the fruit seller and munches on that for breakfast.

"T-Therion!" Alfyn gawks slightly as he pulls the other aside, "W-what was that for?"

"What. I like apples," Therion nonchalantly munches. He is slightly surprised the apothecary actually was able to catch him in the act.

"Ya _stole _that!"

"Quiet, idiot. Do you want the guards on us?" Therion hisses back, "It's just one apple, relax."

"I'm gonna go pay for it," Alfyn starts back for the seller. The thief pulls him back.

"No, you don't. You saw how they work here. A little thievery is the least evil thing on these streets," Therion tries to reason with the man, "Plus, you don't have the leaves and the prices are super inflated."

Alfyn frowns. This left a bad taste in his mouth. Therion had to come up with a compromise.

"Ok look, this is all I'm taking," Therion munches on his ill-gotten treat, "We'll pay for whatever else we need."

Alfyn sighs and looks around, "I'm holdin' ya to that, Therion. These folks don't need any more trouble from the look of things..."

The thief merely rolls his eyes. They resume perusing the marketplace. Alfyn regains some of his earlier excitement, seeing a variety of exotic plants and ingredients.

"Hey, what's that? Cait scat? What can ya tell me about where it came from? … Oh, I see... Well, what's it do? … Oho! How much? … Ah, well, nice chattin' with ya!"

Therion eyes some glittery scabbards for ornate daggers and oriental knives. But since Alfyn caught him once, the apothecary hasn't let him off his radar at all. Therion picks a few pockets for the loose change, but not anything major.

"Ooh, fireweed!" Alfyn's eyes light up, "Ya know, this stuff is a great fire starter? And if yer ever cold, chewin' it'll help ya feel warm but also feel like your mouth's on fire!"

"...Why would I want that," Therion says, bored.

"Clears up the sinuses!"

Therion scoffs. When they near the end of the market, he ushers Alfyn to stand by the city gate.

"I'm gonna go refill the waterskins. Do NOT go anywhere or get in ANY trouble. You can forget about me bailing you out if you do," Therion says firmly.

"Hey, you can trust me, Therion! But you better hold up on your word!" Alfyn pokes Therion on the chest with a smile.

Therion goes off. He ducks behind a small crowd here and there as the number of people on the street grow with the daytime turning to later noon. Once sure he was out of Alfyn's range, he has his fun with a couple of purses. There didn't seem to be as much pompous rich men around this time. Most of them didn't have too much on them. At the end of the dive, Therion had netted only about 30 leaves, some silken handkerchiefs, and someone's old scarf.

He sighs and makes his way to the local pawn stand. The shrewd looking old woman looks up at him from her sitting position. She takes a drag from her hookah before addressing him, blowing residual fumes at his face.

"...Buy or sell?"

"Sell," Therion dumps a load of whatever useless things he stole on the rug before her. There is a mess of empty coin pouches, hankies, rope trinkets, a child's toy... He was an unadmitted kleptomaniac.

"I'll give you fifty leaves for all of it."

Therion makes a small noise with his teeth. He never haggled because he never could figure out how. It usually just ended up with him being chased out by the guards. He sighs and nods, holding out his hand for the money. The woman takes the rubbish aside and slaps a handful of coins in his hand.

"Pleasure."

He grunts and now makes his way for the city well. It smells due to the proximity to the stables, where camels and horses are pinned up. Those long neck desert llamas spit as he passes, and he luckily dodges their shots despite the slicked floor from accumulated mucus. Once at the well, he waits with a few others to refill their vessels. After that, he dodges the camel fest again and makes his way back to the gate. The apothecary is not where he last left him.

_Oh my fucking gods that idiot..._

He scowls and starts peering about for a glimpse of the dirty blonde. Where could he be? He did not want to search this entire city for that one bumpkin. Yet, his feet start darting by the alleyways and nooks as his eyes rove.

Then he finally spots him.

He's standing by a portion of upper city, where the ground is raised above the earthbound clouds outside the low walls. Here, one can look out along an upper rim and towards the wide desert outside Sunshade. Alfyn is there with an older woman and a young girl leaned against the barrier wall. He seems to be talking to the girl, who looks rather sickly. Therion thinks better of barging in and hangs back a little away, listening.

"...'ll be fine, ok, Marjorie?"

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" The older woman says profusely, seemingly near tears, "We were so lucky you happened to be passing by..."

"No problem ma'am!" Alfyn gives her a grin before looking back to Marjorie, "Hey, why the long face? Does something else hurt?"

"Ah, she's just sullen because the dancer in blue she saw the other day is no longer performing... She was her favorite to watch."

Dancer in blue? Yusufa was the only one who wore that color, as Therion recalls. It's great she had an admirer and all... but he could not believe this lady actually took some underaged kid into that kind of tavern environment. Judging from her clothes, they seem to be of noble descent.

"Aw that's too bad..."

"I hate being sick..." The little girl, Marjorie, pouts, "Can't ever go outside enough..."

"You've been fightin' for a while, eh?"

"She cannot go much of anywhere, I'm afraid. She is only allowed a few hours a day outside at best, lest her lungs act up..."

"Shucks... Y'know I was once sick too, Marjorie. A good laugh always made me feel better. In fact, wanna hear a joke?"

Therion drags a hand down his face in mortification as Alfyn tells some weird story about a slug and something called an anemone in the depths of Middlesea.

"...and then he says, 'With friends like these, who needs anemones?'"

There is an awkward silence.

"Hehe... get it? Cuz it sounds like 'enemies?'"

"...What's an anamoree..." Marjorie looks to him, confused.

"...Y' know I don't actually know either..." Alfyn shrugs helplessly, "Magg said some seaman told him that joke. It was funnier when he told me..."

"... Heehee, you're weird..." The girl giggles at his expressions.

"Hey, you're smiling!" Alfyn grins warmly.

The mother sighs in relief.

"Well, have her take this juice once a day in the morning with some breakfast. It should help with strengthening her breathin' and hopefully get 'em into decent shape," Alfyn hands the mother a small bottle of something as he stands.

"Oh, thank you so very much..."

"Hehe, no need. It's what I do!"

"Are you going to stay in town?" The little girl stands and tugs at the hem of his vest hopefully.

"Ahh, probably not. I have someone waiting for me. And he's probably pretty worried by now actually..." The apothecary seems to come to a slight realization, "...Well, I should get going! Take care, y' hear?"

Alfyn waves to the mother and daughter as he walks away towards Therion's direction, whom he didn't see. The thief pulls him aside once he's near.

"Awp- Eh, Therion?" Alfyn blinks at the thief.

"Idiot! Do you know how long I've been looking for you?!" Therion hisses, gripping the other's arm.

"W-well I jus' heard someone lookin' for an apothecary cuz someone collapsed an' all," Alfyn laughs nervously at the thief glaring daggers, "No need to be so upset!"

"Tsk..." Therion sighs. There's no helping this idiot with a heart of gold. "I got the water. We can go back now."

"Eh, but Primrose wanted us to get some makeup for her!"

"We browsed already. Let's just go and tell her they were all too damn expensive. Not sure why the hells she needs that anyway on the road," Therion mutters.

"Maybe it's something important from here. Anyway, I'm gonna go buy it, maybe find it from a cheaper seller."

The apothecary starts to walk off. Therion pulls him back, "You don't have the money even for the cheap stuff."

"Maybe not," Alfyn pulls back, now dragging Therion with him, "But you do!"

Therion could not believe the strength this guy has as he's lugged with him back into the bazaar.

…

Sadiq spears down another overgrown horse fly. Its guts splatter on the cave floor behind me. The place is infested with monsters. But I knew that already. I look out to the cavernous opening, out to the desert in the day from where I sit. My eyelids are heavy, wanting sleep. But I cannot oblige. I need to keep vigilant. So I occupy myself with old thoughts.

This cave was once connected to the east of the Sunshade wall, intended to be an escape route in times of siege and war. Since the infestations of monsters, it has been sealed up. But I had happened upon it on one of the nights when Helgenish had let us peruse the town. The old barrier had collapsed due to erosion. Me and Wilk had fancied that it would be a way to freedom. Of course, then, I could not have left yet.

Still, the monsters here are not too numerous. I haven't stepped into the innards, but other than a few bug and flies, there haven't been things like lizardmen here at all. Perhaps it is a sign something else lurks, but I am too tired to contemplate moving elsewhere.

"... Woof!" Sadiq barks suddenly.

I turn, half expecting him to be up to some silly antic. I see he is facing a man with a torch. A familiar face speaks with a familiar voice.

"...Primrose?" He glances at Sadiq, "And... the crazy old timer..."

"...Wilk?" I shift slightly on my rock seat and stand uncertainly. What was he doing here?

"Primrose, it's really you..." He looks back to me and steps closer. I see him in different clothes. He's wearing the armor that is Helgenish's lackeys' uniform.

"Wilk, what are you doing here... and in those clothes..."

"Eh, oh, oh, yeah..." He looks down at the armor, "Stole 'em off a guard. They've been a bit lax I guess, heh... What about you, what're you doing here? You vanished into thin air! And Yusufa too!"

"... She's dead," I say bluntly. I almost felt myself wanting to even say that I killed her.

"... Oh. Prim, you..." Wilk squints at me and he nears cautiously, "You left that night and Helgenish also disappeared... And now Yusufa's dead...? What happened?"

"Nothing you need to get tied up in, Wilk," My gaze is level and steady, "...So Helgenish is gone, finally... How is it without him running the town?"

He doesn't quite buy my guise of innocence, "...Not the best. The brothel and cabaret are in shambles pretty much. One of Helgenish's associates picked up the financial management, but the lackeys pretty much run everything now. They like to do as they please with the dancers and patrons alike. Business just... hasn't been the same."

"...I see," I suppose I should feel bad for leaving a mess in my departure. I'm not sure I fully do.

"So... You ran off to greener pastures didja?" He has a bit of a bitter smile.

"I had nothing left there, Wilk. So I left," I sigh, "What are you doing now?"

"Surviving. One good thing is the guards cleared out a good deal of this cave and are planning to expand apparently. Make this their new base... I've been using it to sneak out of town from a tunnel in the back."

"... I see."

"... What did you do, Prim..." His voice hardens slightly with a reluctant tone, "What happened that night... that it all went to hell..."

"Wilk, just please don't ask. You don't want to know," I say almost softly, "Just forget you ever saw me back here. You won't need to see me again."

"Prim, did you kill Helgenish…?"

A silence. He had actually asked.

"...Yes," I find myself answering, "And I don't regret it."

"...Cravens... Prim! He was living scum, for sure... But..." His face contorts with mixes of emotions, from anger to sorrow, "You... You cut off a lifeline for us you know..."

"Were you content living like a dog, eating scraps out of his hand?" I cannot help but be curt about it. I thought Helgenish's death would be something more celebrated.

"For some of us, that's all we had! Maybe we're just buzzards, feasting on whatever leftover bones society threw us... but does that mean we don't have a right to live?" Wilk looks to me a slightly pained look, "Did you even think of that? How the rest of us would flounder after what you did... Or did you just not care?"

Perhaps I didn't. I could say Yusufa's death might have numbed me... but that's just an excuse. I barely gave the future of Sunshade a second thought after I saw the man with the left arm tattoo. So I do not answer.

"... You've gotten cold Prim... or were you always..."

"Wilk, did you really steal that uniform?" I ask emotionlessly. Something about this conversation was beginning to bore me. I could feel impassive responding, like I could not be bothered to entertain him any longer.

"... I told you I was surviving. I thought you wouldn't like that I joined the guards who run Sunshade now... But it seems I shouldn't have cared...!" He says bitterly, "You didn't give a damn about the consequences for the rest of us!"

"Wilk, you knew what they have done for so long."

"And now I know what you did too! You need to turn yourself in and see for yourself, Prim. How hard it is now...!"

Turn myself in? In a place where the law is no more, these words are laughable. And so I laugh lightly, "Wilk... there's no way I'm going to do that."

He seems to grind his teeth in frustration. Then he turns to go back into the cave briskly. I assume for reinforcements. And I can't have that.

It felt like a natural movement, darting up behind him with my dagger drawn in hand. Before he even registered my hand on his chin and yell, my blade already made way into where his vocal chords should be, severing them. The blade slips in deeper and I know this feeling. It's the same as when I killed Helgenish. The feeling of cutting off the lifeblood to the head...

"I'm sorry, Wilk..."

I let the body spasm as it drops like a stone at my feet. The smell of blood momentarily floods the cavern opening until the next wind comes. And then it is gone with the whistling sandy air.

I had said I was sorry... but I feel nothing. Just hollowness.

…

When the thief and apothecary finally return, it is in the mid-afternoon, and the sun's rays are scorching the land. The dancer is huddled still where they had left her. Her eyes are reddish from lack of sleep, she says. Therion notes some red blood on her hands, but it could be from some monster. Sadiq seems to be sleep-sitting again. A bit of drool hangs off the corner of his lips. They set up camp for the day and plan to rest until it is cooler to keep moving.

"Gee, I gathered a buncha neat plants today!" Alfyn grins, "And most of it was free!"

Therion sighs loudly, "We could have died of dehydration with you stopping at every single cactus..."

"Aw, don't be like that, Therion..." Alfyn says as he organizes his bag, "Besides, in the worst-case scenario, I can always churn up some ice for us!"

"You're not much better of a Gate than I am," Therion mutters. His stomach growls and he hides his face in his scarf.

"Ok, let's have dinner eh? I have some smoked fish and dried berries!"

They have a decent meal composed of rations and water. As it was still daytime, they did not need to make a fire. Outside however, a sandstorm begins to gather near dusk, obscuring everything in sight.

"...Shit," Therion peers out of the cavern cautiously, "We're asking to be skinned alive if we go out."

Primrose purses her lips in annoyance. There's no telling when the storm may die down. They were stuck until further notice. The sands howl unceasingly outside, and it is soon dark. The whistling becomes like a moaning through the cave. With the temperature dip, Alfyn sneezes.

"Achuu!" He shivers a bit and pulls out a blanket Elnora gave him, "Hey, cuddle up, guys…"

"In your dreams…" Therion leans back, snuggling in his heavy poncho. He closes his eyes, "Wake me when the storm stops."

"Hehe, I guess he was tired…" Alfyn yawns a bit himself.

"… You can sleep, Alfyn," Primrose says a bit tonelessly, "Me and Sadiq can keep watch."

"You've been watching all day! Ain'tcha tired?" Alfyn looks over to her with a bit of a sleepy look.

"I'm fine. I can't … exactly sleep anyway…"

"Ehe, well, me neither…"

"Alfyn, you're yawning…"

"Er… well, a bit then! But…" He looks down a bit, "Today we saw those girls being led around with collars… and it… kinda scared me…"

"Ah, I'm sorry you had to see that, Alfyn…"

"No, don't be… I started thinking about what they… what they did to them there. And then … that ya were also like that once… Well, I just couldn't stop quakin' in my boots then! I mean, where's decency when ya need it?"

Primrose gives a soft smile, "I'm glad you feel so strongly about that, Alfyn… You're a better man than most in that city… if not all."

"I mean, shucks. I'd never been in a brothel or nothin', even… 'S jus' my ma always raised me better, I guess. But that's always jus' been common sense t' me!" He sighs and rubs his eyes, "But yeah… not sleepin' quick after that!"

She chuckles, "Alright then… let's stay up together for a bit."

The storm outside lessens from a roar down to a low hum. It was still much too sandy to walk, Primrose could tell, but the moonlight was at least present now. She leans a bit on Alfyn.

"Hm? You tired, Prim?" Alfyn yawns for about the fifth time now.

"… Not exactly… Say, Alfyn… you've spoken to us about your mother… what about your father?"

"Oh," Alfyn awkwardly tries to find the next words, "Uhm… I don't exactly… like talkin' about my old man. He wasn't … well, let's jus' say you'd rather hear about my ma than him."

"Ah… I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. He was a tough old ass. Loved to drink. Townsfolk told me plenty that I got my drinkin' skills from him."

"… Alfyn, when you were bathing… those scars on your back…" Primrose feels him stiffen at her mentioning, "…Did he give you those?"

"… Yeah."

"… I'm sorry."

Alfyn sighs, "He drank a lot and cussed a lot… broke a lotta stuff sometimes. Thank Dohter he never laid a hand on ma. On me, I couldn't care less… Then when the pestilence began, we both were sick as dogs. I lived… but he didn't. Folks say he was tryin' t' atone on his deathbed. But heck if I knew…"

He looks to the dancer, "Ah, sorry, I rambled a bit, din't I? I shouldn't be sayin' all this, since ya also lost yer father and all…"

"… It's fine Alfyn," Primrose closes her eyes, "Family can be complicated."

"You said it."

As the storm slowly subsides, the thief's eyes flash open. Of course, he hadn't really been asleep. The conversation was... a bit interesting this time.

"…Seems good to go now."

"Ah, alright…" Alfyn stows away the blanket and yawns, nearly falling over. Primrose supports him, "Oof, thanks…"

"If you want, we can keep resting."

"We are burning moonlight here," Therion says with annoyance.

"It's fine, it's fine! I'll just have a niiice big nap once we're in the next town! Which is… er…"

"Cobbleston."

"Right," Another yawn, "Cobbulstun."

Therion rolls his eyes and walks out of the cave. Alfyn follows sluggishly. Prim rouses Sadiq and looks back to the darkness of the cave. She had dragged the body towards the back so it wouldn't be found soon. Something like a murmur rises to her lips before she turns and leaves with the grizzled spear man at her side.


	9. Chapter 9: Tales To Fall Asleep To

Out in the night, the party roved over the dunes. In the moonlight, Therion could not see where the desert began nor ended in any direction. He could glimpse the occasional wind blow a billow of sand over the dunes underlying the night horizon. The light of the city was far behind them now, and only the stars accompanied the waning moon in the sky. When a cloud passed, only Primrose was not blindly rolling down a sandy dune. Their progress had slowed significantly from their earlier strides due to most of them having fatigue from no sleep. Even Sadiq seemed to sway a bit from side to side as they walked. He muttered his usual gibbering thoughts, in a way almost like sleep-talking. It was a miracle he didn't topple over with the shifting sand underfoot.

"...Alfyn are you alright..." Primrose suppresses a yawn as she sees Alfyn's sluggish form. He looks like he's about to pass out.

"...muh? Oh, yeah..." He gives a wide yawn, "M' fine..."

He flops down a dune's side for about the fifth time. Towards the bottom, Therion picks up a strange noise. Alarm seizes his body as he recognizes it. Primrose notices as well, but he leaps first. He calls out for the apothecary at the top of his lungs, uncharacteristically loud.

"ALFYN!"

"H-huh?" Therion's yell momentarily rouses the apothecary. He'd rolled down to the foot of the dune, seemingly into a pit of soft sand. He hears a sound like a click and hissing around him. When the moonlight returns, he sees the monstrous maw of a large sand worm rise from the sand to chomp down on him.

"W-WAH!"

He scrambles to try and stand, but the loose sand in a sand worm's hole is architecturally designed to naturally be soft, hard to find footing on for prey. And so he doesn't go anywhere anytime soon. As the beast brings its fanged jaw down, he braces with his arms up for feeble protection against impending impact.

Just when he was expecting to be worm food, there is a blur of dark purple. The thief lands a slash on the bug's face, momentarily distracting it. Its carapace was hard, even for a sword. He grunts and quickly dashes out of the worm's immediate proximity, scooping Alfyn up in a princess carry as he runs. Traces of dark magic make his feet feel light.

Primrose lowers her dancing stance slightly, sighing in relief. But it wasn't over just yet.

The worm, momentarily confused, rears its head and dives for the thief trying to scramble out of its pit with the apothecary. Even with enhanced speed, the sand was making it incredibly difficult to gain any lead on the worm.

"Grr...!" Therion grits his teeth, "Get your axe out!"

"Uh- Okay!" Alfyn fumbles and pulls out the silver axe. It gleams in the moonlight.

A lash of dark magic strikes the worm's tail from behind and gets its attention. Sadiq stands, poised alongside Primrose. All fatigue seemed to be gone from the old man as battle lulled him into readiness. Therion takes the opportunity to let Alfyn down beside him and draw his sword and dagger. The worm hisses vehemently at the dancer's direction.

"Sandworms are blind!" Primrose calls out, "They can only tell where we are by the vibrations in the sand from our movement!"

Well that's just soooo helpful in this situation, thinks Therion.

The worm dives for the dancer and gets a mouthful of sand as she leaps atop its head. Running along the length of the body, she stabs her dagger down along multiple points to try and find a weak spot. But the worm's armor, unlike an arthropod, is continuous, with no chinks. It gives a hissing roar and throws her off. She lands back in the sands just as it sweeps about for Therion and Alfyn.

"Tsk...!" Therion saw the little effect both his and the dancer's weapons had on the body. They need something heavier, which means...

Before he can relay the proposition, the worm regurgitates the sand it swallowed earlier at them. The slurry of wetted particles pelts them like mud. Therion hears Alfyn yelp as his footing begins to slip and curses inwardly.

"Cut its belly!" He yells to the apothecary as he watches Alfyn start sliding down the pit towards the worm's lair again.

Alfyn quickly sticks his axe out as he's about to slide past the creature's body. The axe's heft keeps it steady as it makes a huge graze along the worm's side. Fiona had kept its edge well. But due to the impromptu action, it was not as deep as the thief would have hoped. Alfyn arrives to the bottom of the pit, where the sand is softest. He had pretty much ended up back where he started. But the worm flails and roars from the cut, too distracted to notice him for now. Its swinging tail nearly takes Primrose's head off as she throws another blast of dark magic at it.

"Hoooraaah! For freedooooommm!" Overhead, Sadiq leaps above her, spear raised. He lands on the creature's midsection and jams the spear in, once, twice, three times. The concentrated force exerted from the battle-worn spearhead pierces the tough armor and the worm gives out a high-pitched shriek. The insect's fluids spurt out. It writhes and thrashes as Sadiq keeps his spear in, hanging on for dear life.

It rears its head and tries to bite the old man. With a peerless strike, Sadiq draws out his spear with a flourish and smashes the worm on the head with the shaft end. The worm ends up biting itself a bit as Sadiq jumps off scot-free. The beast gives a pained shriek and turns its attentions back to the pit bottom, where Alfyn is too busy gathering his bearings to notice.

"Tch! No you don't...!" Therion leaps with both blades.

"Lowly worm... _The moonlight calls!" _Primrose snarls as she jumps as well.

The two cross on different sides of the worm. Therion's blades finally make headway on the worm's head, as the corrosive he stabbed in earlier has taken effect. The sword and dagger slide deeply into the soft worm flesh under its natural armor. Primrose's moonlight waltz blurs along the other side like an all-consuming black flame. The dancer and thief both land on opposite sides of the pit in conclusion of something like a paired dance. The worm's upper body sways in the air before toppling with a groaning hiss, making a cloud of sand erupt from the pit.

"Ungh... Alfyn?!" Therion frantically slides back down the pits edge, stowing his weapons and covering his face from the sand flying about. He looks this way and that for that apothecary, "Alfyn!"

Primrose slides down from the other side. Neither of them hears a response immediately over the howl of the desert night wind. Prim sees slight movement in the miniature dunes made by the collapse of the worm. Therion moves to where she darts and reaches faster. He sees now an arm sticking out of the sand. His heart sinks a bit as he starts to dig furiously. He didn't quite know why he felt this way.

He yanks at the arm and pulls Alfyn out. Sadiq leaps atop the monster's body and looks down as the thief lays the apothecary in the sand. Primrose shortly approaches.

"Alfyn?!"

Therion checks his breathing first and cleans out any sand in his mouth and nose. Alfyn coughs almost immediately with his airways cleared. The thief turns him on his side so he doesn't end up choking on more sand. Prim lets out a sigh of relief.

"Ugh..." The apothecary takes deep, halting breaths as he coughs out stray bits of sand, "Ow..."

"You hurt?" Therion leans back a bit to give him some space, "It did almost fall on you, you know."

"Hghk … nn... ..."

"... Alfyn?"

"...zzz..."

Primrose blinks a bit. She can't help but let out a light laugh despite the fatigue, "...He's asleep..."

"...Tsk. I guess we're gonna have to wait. Again."

The thief's voice showed irritation. But the dancer had a hunch that somewhere deep down he was relieved as he looked down at the sleeping apothecary.

…

Therion led them to a checkpoint away from the pit. Sadiq lugs the listless apothecary slung over his shoulder. They see the red strip of cloth fluttering in the night from a pole dug into the sand. Around the base of the pole are empty ceramic pots, many of which are cracked. They used to hold water for travelers, but people have long stopped filling them due to the dangers of the terrain.

The thief grunts as he sits down. The dancer sits a bit beside him, and the old man lays the apothecary beside them before hopping on top of an overturned pot and looking out like a scout.

"…mn…zz…Ze..n…" Alfyn dribbles a bit in his sleep. Despite the near-death experience from earlier, he seems to sleep phenomenally.

"…Psh," Therion mutters, "Idiot…"

"You care for him a lot," Primrose teases slightly. He gives her a side stink eye, to which she merely laughs in response, "I don't mean it as a negative thing. I think it's quite endearing. I hadn't thought you the type to be protective like that."

He scoffs in response as the dancer cleans out sand from Alfyn's eyes, "He's a hell of a miracle worker is all."

"…Say, you were awake when we were talking, weren't you, you little sneak?" Primrose gives him a mischievous smile, "Were you ever actually asleep?"

"It's annoying to lose so much time to sleep," He keeps his eyes off her, "Just like how it's unnecessary for you to need makeup on the road."

"Ah, but I am a dancer, nonetheless. I must always be prepared to take whatever stage presents itself to me, and that includes maintenance of cosmetics."

"Whatever," To Therion, it was worthless drivel. He couldn't tell if he preferred when they were at each other's throats while they'd been sick or talking circles like now.

"…So, are you going to keep watch?"

"No, I'm also going to practice some cheesemaking right here. What else would I be doing," Therion rolls his eye at the question.

Primrose rummages through the apothecary's bag and pulls out the blanket, draping it over Alfyn. He unconsciously snuggles in it with a dreamy look, murmuring some incoherent things.

"… You seriously aren't cold at all?" Therion arches an eyebrow slightly when he sees what she is doing.

"I've endured worse nights out here," Primrose says simply.

"I'm starting to wonder if that's seriously it," Therion grumbles, "Your eyes glow in the dark, and you use the craziest dark magic. And now the cold doesn't bother you despite the average wench catching a cold out here."

"You're watching me rather closely," Primrose looks to him with a coy smile.

"… We're both watching. And you're just…" He doesn't finish, instead sighing.

"What?" With a sly grin, she pushes her face up to his, "What makes you keep your eyes on me?"

"… I don't trust you," He looks her in the eye now at this proximity.

Her expression doesn't fall or anything. She seems satisfied with the answer and pulls off him, returning to her sitting position. They sit in silence, watching the night pass.

"… Do you not sleep either," He mutters.

"You want to be left to watch alone?"

"…Whatever."

Another lapse of silence. Sadiq sits down on the overturned pot and surveys the direction opposite of the thief.

"… So, you're going all the way up north to kill some people huh."

"…Yes. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you were listening then as well," Primrose sighs a little, "You do your fair share of eavesdropping in the taverns as well don't you?"

He hadn't thought anyone noticed, "…How do you figure?"

"Your face. You usually look a bit distracted, listening to other conversations."

He frowns a bit as he covers the lower half of his face with his scarf. He had worked for a long time on making the perfect expression of attentiveness. She'd seen through it easily.

"It's a bit rude, you know," Primrose lightly gives his shoulder a nudge, a playful expression on her face. He growls and folds his arms, tossing her a look of annoyance.

"Like you didn't do that all the time when you worked in the tavern? How else do you get information?"

"Guilty as charged," She smiles a bit to herself, "It's a skill I don't see many others have."

The thief buries his face in his scarf as a breeze blows by, sending ripples across the sand, "… We restock in Cobbleston… and then go for Rippletide… And it's north from there. It's fastest to remain close to the inner coast of Middlesea. And no detours."

Primrose nods and looks up to the moon. It would be a while before they reach the Frostlands. Would the crow still be there? Unease roils now where cold conviction was before. But she cannot rush it. It has been a plan ten years in the making, and it would not do for it to fall apart now.

_Foul scavenger… Just you wait…_

…

The sun came up almost too quickly for Alfyn. The heat from dawn was almost immediately felt as the blinding rays hit his face and forced him awake almost instantly. He has to blink several times to adjust to the harsh light of the desert morning, and get the sand off his eyelashes that accrued on overnight.

"Aaawwhn…." He yawns and stretches in the sand, feeling the blanket on him… and someone next to him, "…hm?"

"Good morning, Alfyn."

Primrose sits up from behind him with a petite yawn herself. She brushes off sand from the blanket, "How did you sleep?"

"Eh, Prim… Oh, I slept like a rock! … Ack, where's the worm?!" The apothecary jumps to his feet.

"Calm down, idiot," Therion stands and roughly pats the sand off his trousers, "It's been dead for a while now."

"Oh," Alfyn looks at the other three, "You guys alright? Y' didn't stay up all night watchin' or anythin' right?"

"I took a small nap," The dancer stands and shakes sand out of her hair.

"Okely-dokely!" Sadiq does a slight jig.

"We're alright," Therion looks Alfyn over, "… What about you. A big worm nearly fell on you and buried you in sand after all."

"I'm fine!" Alfyn gives a grin, "Just a bit dry in the mouth and all, but nothin' some water won't fix!"

"I saw the next checkpoint a bit ahead. But for now, we need shelter during the day," Therion sighs and glances at the dancer, "Any other caves viable?"

Primrose looks about, "This is further east than I'd ever gone really in a long time… The last instance I was here was when I was first brought to Sunshade as a dancer. I'm not familiar with this area at all, really."

"Great…" Therion rolls his eye slightly and surveys about, eyes eventually landing on a geologic structure jutting out of the sand like an arch, "… Let's go there for now then."

They make their way about the desert morning to where the thief directed. The arch provides moderate shade and shelter from the sun and wind. There, they divvy up their water and drink thirstily. Alfyn gargles a little and swallows, not wanting to waste resources.

"Aah…!" Alfyn looks around at their arid surroundings after another refreshing swig, "Gee, how long d'you guys wager we'll take t'get to the Highlands?"

"Depends. Shouldn't take more than two more days..." Therion grumbles a bit, looking out to the next red strip fluttering in the wind, "These markers are the only lead we got."

"Have either of ya ever been to the Highlands or Cobbleston?" Alfyn looks to the two, "I sure haven't."

"I figured," Therion mutters and leans back on the wall within the stone arch, "Been there once in the Highlands."

"Oh, was it to empty some poor noble's manor of their earthly possessions?" Primrose playfully teases. The thief mutters something and they can hear the bit about a "stupid princess."

"Hehe, well, I'll give ya one thing. Thieves steal here, steal there... steal everywhere! They never take a break from their job!" Alfyn laughs a bit, "They're as hardworkin' as bees!"

"Ah, Alfyn, your words are so kind," Primrose giggles.

"I mean, I don't think it's right exactly, but... heck that's a work ethic we apothecaries got too!"

Therion buries his face in his scarf. He doesn't look up after the apothecary's comment.

"So, how was the region, Therion?"

"... Rocky," The thief mutters, "Not as dusty as the Cliftlands, but just as annoying with those beastly birds and rats everywhere..."

"Oh, the ratkin? Heard some horror stories about that from Zeph's old man when he was a travelin' apothecary..."

"Like rats alone aren't bad enough, now they got friggin' _knives_," Therion sighs, "Monsters... And some already know how to use magic. Tsk, the human race is doomed."

"Aw, Therion..."

"How predictably downright cynical of you, my dear thief," Primrose chuckles, "I haven't been to the Highlands myself, only having passed by on the way here to the Sunlands. I don't count that much as even visiting."

"Ohh, ok..." Alfyn stretches a bit, "Hnn... Maybe we can keep moving just after the noon sun's passed? Oughta be cooler by then, right?"

"It would certainly save some time," Primrose looks up to the sun, "Do you think you can make ice to cool us off in intervals, Alfyn?"

"Heck, I can sure try! Whatever'll move us out faster!"

"... Remember to cover your heads," Therion pulls his scarf over his head like a cowl as he stands, "Or you'll get hot in the head. And I am not carrying either of you if you faint from sunstroke."

…

The sun was relentless even after passing its zenith point in the sky. True to his word, Alfyn continuously tries his best to form ice shards. Sometimes they would form sizeable chunks for them to suck on, relieving their heated bodies temporarily. However, more often than not, the magic whiffled and fizzled into just puffs of condensation which quickly evaporated.

"It doesn't work too well when dry..." Alfyn explains, chuckling sheepishly after the magic poofs for the fifth time in his hands.

"Does it ever work really well?" Therion rolls his eye.

"Don't start, Therion. You have trouble even starting a fire," Primrose sighs and ignores the thief's indignant seething at her comment, "Alfyn, are you sure your energy can keep this up? You've been casting for a while now..."

"I'm fine! It'll take more n' this t'get me down!"

To the dancer's relief, the sun was beginning to lower into the horizon and the sky darkens. They had passed two other red checkpoints. Ahead, she could see the mountains rise up all the way to the edge of the sky, signaling the end of the desert.

"We'll be in the Highlands by nightfall... At last," Therion lets out a long sigh, "And then it's hard rock all the way on and up..."

"Aw, cheer up, Therion!" Alfyn gives the thief a jolly slap on the back, "Can't be any worse than dyin' in the desert all dried up like jerky!"

"At least we can rest properly once there... hopefully," Primrose rubs her foot gingerly, "We'll need it before we trek our soles raw."

Therion snorts, "Does the princess require a pack mule to carry her everywhere?"

"I'd be impressed if you could steal that, dear thief," Primrose sighs, "Those are luxuries we can hardly think of on the road."

"Huh? Are your feet hurtin,' Prim?" Alfyn squats down in front of her, "Climb on!"

Therion suppresses a laugh. Primrose almost laughs, failing to repress a small smile of amusement at the gesture, "Thank you, but no thank you, Alfyn. I can walk on my own two feet."

"Eh, you sure? Cuz it's no bother..."

"Yes, I'm fine. Besides, I have Sadiq, remember?"

The old man is playing with his lips as they walk, making sounds like "Bibbitybibbitybibbity."

"Well, alright..." Alfyn stands, "But ya both gotta be mindful of yer feet ya hear! It can't be hard, dancin' and stealin' on 'em all day...!"

_This sappy idiot can't be real..._

Therion sighs, "I've walked my share of hard rock for a while, so I'll be fine."

"Oh, ya grew up in a place like the Highlands?" Alfyn looks to the thief, "Actually... where did ya come from, Therion?"

"... The Cliftlands," Therion looks on ahead, "And not just rocks and canyons. I've scaled all kinds of surfaces. So I'll be fine. Just worry about princess twinkle-toes there with the open sandals."

"Oh, so considerate of you!" Primrose folds her arms a bit with a trying smile.

"You're welcome. I'm so nice, aren't I," Therion dryly chuckles briefly.

…

It is dark when the travelers encounter something like solid ground under their feet. Here, in the moonlight, the bare stones of the Highland crags are lain bare. There are many shapes formed by the many rocks and clusters about. The grey mountains seem bleached white in the pale light and the party slowly makes their way up the first few feet of elevation.

"…There…" Primrose pants a bit, bending over, "I see a cave…"

Therion rubs the fatigue out of his eyes and takes out his dagger. Concentrating all his focus, the blade of the weapon suddenly begins to glow red hot like a small torch. He can see the cave with its light. Cautiously, he walks towards it.

Alfyn yawns a bit, not seeing much in the dark. He sees the spark Therion lights moving away and calls out, "Therion?"

"Shh!" Therion shushes him in exasperation. Upon nearing the opening of the cave, he sees black fur. At the head of the sleeping creature is a pair of strong horns. A Highlands ram. These are a heck of strong hitters, having landed many a man in a near death bed with bones broken under its powerful hooves or a butt of its horned head. They were more aggressive and territorial during their mating season. Judging from the little family behind it, better not to risk intruding. Therion begins to back away and return to the others, his blade light dimming.

"…What is it?" Primrose catches her breath and looks to the returning thief.

"Occupied. Let's keep going."

The dancer sighs as they resume trudging. But she makes sure Alfyn doesn't hear. They tread along the precariously carved steps along the mountainous region. Countless steps by previous travelers have worn some of the stones flat for walking, but much of it remained untamed. Therion could glimpse a shadow of some long-worn banner fluttering in the high winds here. It was a mere scrap of cloth, possibly once a flag from a country.

A strong wind blows and even Primrose shivers at the cold mountain gales. They moan with the mountains and bellow down the mountainside. The trees, many which looked like hands of skeletons, creak with the winds.

"Prim, you okay? Cold?" Alfyn glances to the dim form of the dancer.

"I … I'm fine…" She forces her teeth to chatter more quietly.

"Therion, we oughta rest… Can't get no bearings like this."

Therion sighs, "I see an old flag. Could be an abandoned fort nearby."

"… I see an opening over there, by the rocks," Primrose points, "Might be a monster den… might not be."

Therion grunts and concentrates hard to light his blade again. He had to always be mindful not to light it too quickly or the blade could burst from the half-assed tempering effect the fire had on it. Once, the blade had splintered in his hand and he was stuck with cut fingers for a week. There wasn't a cleric in town there and he had to nurse his wounds for that brash action on his own. Luckily, everything healed correctly. But he'd learned the hard way.

He sneakily walks along the rocky ground to the den opening. Holding the blade light up, he shines light cautiously at the floor and walls. There are some signs of a creature having been here, from the scratches on the floor. But there are no other beings in the shallow cavern to be seen. The thief returns to the dancer and apothecary and the three of them quickly enter the shelter. Primrose comes back out briefly to drag Sadiq back in from wandering away. He had been pretending he was a tree lumbering in a forest.

"He's losing it more every day, I swear," Therion mutters.

"He can't really help it…" Primrose sits the old man down on the floor. He looks around the dark cave, peering for the moonlit entrance with a dazed expression.

"Hehe, well let's continue movin' once the sun's up eh?" Alfyn leans back on the cave walls, folding his arms behind his head, "… Ah shucks, I ain't sleepy at all…! Musta slept too much..."

"Just close your eyes and let it come then," Therion folds his arms over his chest as he leans back from his seat. The bandages concealing the bangle arm seem to be slipping slightly and he grunts with frustration going to fix them. Alfyn chuckles as he gives him a hand. Despite the darkness, the apothecary's hands had impeccable muscle memory from having bandaged many an injury.

"...Thanks."

"Hehe, anytime!"

"I don't suppose we should light a fire here… the winds would put it out. And its light would only serve to attract those nocturnal rodents…" Primrose draws her arms close as a wind howls by the cavern opening.

"Prim, y' sound cold. Here," Alfyn hands her his blanket. His hand brushes her exposed shoulders when he drapes it over her, "Gadzooks, you are really freezing!"

"Am I? Hm…" She draws the covers close, "Strange, I certainly don't feel particularly chilly."

"You have a fever?" The apothecary awkwardly pats her face before finding her forehead in the dark, "… Well, your head ain't hot…"

"I'm fine, Alfyn," Primrose chuckles and removes his hand, "But thank you for the blanket."

She draws Sadiq, who sneezes, into the covers. Most of the blanket goes to cover the old man. As he begins to doze, she has a small smile on her face.

"Can we just shut up and get some rest?" Therion mutters.

"Aww, but I really can't sleep! I seriously musta slept too much in the desert!"

"You're just naturally full of energy," Therion sighs.

"Oh, thanks, Therion!" Alfyn grins, "...Oh! Speakin' o' energy, we oughta eat a bit t' keep ourselves sharp!"

He hands out some rations in the dark, careful not to drop them. The thief feels the thing in his hand. It has a craggily and uneven shape, like a ball of oats. He makes a slight face despite being in the dark.

"What is this, another of your oats?"

"Hehe, I call it an energy ball!" Alfyn says cheerily, "Go on, try it!"

The thief grumbles as he and the dancer take a bite. They both taste the extreme bitterness first. Therion gags slightly.

"I put tons'a herbs in so it's guaranteed t' give ya a big boost of energy!"

"Oh, so _that's_ why… ugh…" Therion coughs lightly as he chokes down the rest of the ball, "Tastes like birdian turd mixed with brick paste."

"Ehh! That stuff's really healthy ya know!" Alfyn says indignantly, "Nobody likes it for the taste… Maybe I should add some other things..."

"Well, now none of us are gonna sleep at this rate with that taste of 'energy' in our mouths," Therion rolls his eye.

"Hmph!" Alfyn childishly munches on his portion.

Primrose chuckles lightly, finishing the little ration ball, "Well, whenever I was unable to sleep… I usually resorted to stories."

"Boring ones to put ya to sleep?" The mention of stories takes Alfyn's attention away from the thief's comment about his food.

"No, no…" Primrose sighs a bit with a tone of fondness, certain memories coming to mind, "Sometimes my father would tell me stories… or I would… tell them to myself, the ones I had heard. They soothed my mind so sleep could come easier."

"Psh. Kids only get more overactive imaginations that keep them awake from stories," Therion scoffs and looks out watchfully to the cave opening.

"Aw, don't be such a spoilsport, Therion! I think I got a neat story fer bedtime…" Alfyn strokes his chin, "Ok, so it begins like this! There was this girl named Mercedes, right? She used t' live in Clearbrook."

"Oh, a childhood crush story, Alfyn?" Primrose teases.

"Ehe, not exactly. See, she always played with me and Zeph when we were all young'uns. 'The Triad' was what a lotta the old folks called us, hehe."

"Troublemakers like Figgs said, hm?" Therion asks offhandedly, sounding a bit bored.

"Guilty, hehe. I was the prankster of the group. Mercedes and Zeph were usually more of the bookish type. But we all had our fun!" Alfyn chuckles, "In fact, once we kinda got in trouble dirtying Ulinor's laundry, hehe... Anyway! Zeph an' Mercedes… they were kinda sweethearts, ya see."

"Ah, so I was right. But it just wasn't about you, Alfyn," Primrose giggles slightly, "Sorry for the interruption. Carry on."

"Anyway, so Zeph and Mercedes were pretty close-"

"Is this a story about how you mucked something up as a third wheel?" Therion smirks slightly from the side.

"H-Hey!" Alfyn lightly punches the thief in the arm, "I was the wingman if anything!"

"But you did muck up, then."

"… Anyway," Alfyn grumbles after a sigh, "Her folks got a job change or somethin' and so they were movin' out of the village. Zeph and Mercedes would never say it, but they were pretty darn bummed out about the whole thing. Zeph was never good at speakin' his feelins' an' all, y'know? So he wrote this letter fer her, but by the time he was done, it was already time fer her t'leave. He couldn't think o' facin' her so he asks me t' deliver it to 'er… hehe, he's a bit shy."

"Lemme guess," Therion adopts a thinking pose, placing a hand to his chin, "You lost the letter."

"No! Ugh, Therion, lemme finish!" Alfyn playfully gives the thief a shove on the shoulder, "I was totally gonna deliver it! I had it in my bag and everything when I got to the front of their house! The wagon was there an' everything! But the wagonmaster looked so darn awful! He was all greenish and clutchin' his stomach… The other adults were too busy movin' an' Mercedes was sittin' there in the carriage next to the wagon."

"… Ah. I see now," Therion's smirk slowly turns to a snide smile, "You-"

"Hush now," Primrose stops him from interrupting again by quickly flipping his scarf up on his own face. He scowls as he pulls it back down.

"She watched me make the medicine lickety-split right there fer the wagonmaster. Me an' Zeph were still greenhorn apprentices, but that was easy enough. He'd jus' eaten a bit much," Alfyn sheepishly chuckles, "Anyway, the guy was feelin' much better after. He thanked me an' they finished movin.' I was all proud at the moment too! Mercedes was lookin' at me all sad. I guess… helpin' the wagonmaster got me all caught up in apothecary stuff that I forgot I was carryin' that letter. Cuz the next thin' I knew, we were sayin' good-bye to each other and she asks where Zeph was. Well, heck, now my tongue was tied. All I could say was he woulda wanted to be there."

He pauses and sighs.

"…So, she left, saddest eyes ever. It wasn't until on my way back that I opened my bag and saw that darn letter still in there!" He sighs loudly, "And I knew then and there I'd done goofed up real bad…"

Therion lets out a small laugh. Primrose elbows him in the ribs, quieting his laughter.

"Did you tell Zeph?"

"… Naw," Alfyn mumbles and rummages around his bag by feel, pulling something out that sounded like paper, "I still have the letter…"

"Alfyn…" Primrose says with slight initial exasperation.

"… Hehe, I guess this was another reason I wanted to go out. I want to find her and deliver this. It's long overdue but…" A small smile forms on his lips, "Better late than never right?"

"Over a decade late might be a problem…" Therion wheezes.

Primrose ignores the thief, "Wait, so Zeph didn't even question it?"

"I just told 'im I gave 'er the letter and… she cried and said all the usual good-bye things," Alfyn blows a puff of air upward at his bangs, "He was mighty disappointed lookin' too… He mighta… figured it didn't sound _quite_ like her."

"Wow, so you _can_ do bad things like tell a lie," Therion chuckles dryly, "Here I thought you even more saintly than those church of the Flame goers."

Alfyn puts the letter away and rests his head on an arm propped up on his knee. The thief's comment had definitely struck him a bit. "I didn't mean to…"

"The point is that you want to fix your mistake, right, Alfyn?" Primrose says gently, rolling her eyes at Therion, "No one is perfect, but you are willing to admit and amend to it at least."

"… I mean, holding onto some letter for this long is pretty impressive," The thief makes a bad attempt to salvage what his words might have broke.

"Naw…" Alfyn chuckles half-heartedly, "Truth is I was just scared to tell the first time…. But after that I got so busy all the time I constantly forgot. Sometimes I'd think to tell Zeph so he could deliver his own letter. But then in the end, I figured I'd want responsibility to finish what I'd started."

"He should've delivered his own letter," Therion mutters. What in the hells was he thinking, putting trust of something that intimate in the hands of this simpleton?

"Well, that is in the end the important lesson I learned: Deliver your own letters," Alfyn flutters his lips a bit, "Anyway, so that's my story. The end."

"What if you never find her? Gonna take that lie with you to the grave?" Therion quirks an eyebrow, "Orsterra isn't exactly tiny. And she could have moved to another continent."

"I know, I know…. Next time I go back to Clearbrook, if I haven't delivered it by then, I'm gonna bite the arrow on the head an' 'fess up to Zeph," Alfyn says a bit wistfully, "Gosh he's gonna be mad…"

"Maybe you'll be lucky on our journey," Primrose gives a small smile and a sigh, "Well, feeling sleepy yet?"

"Hey no fair!" Alfyn huffs indignantly, rubbing his eyes, "I wanna hear a story from you guys now! Hehe, c'mon, it's only fair! Plus, I'm curious!"

"What are you, a kid?" Therion rolls his eyes.

Primrose chuckles, "Granted, I think he is younger than you and me… How old are you, Alfyn?"

"I'm 21!"

"Ah, I see…" Primrose thinks a bit, "I think I may have a story. It's not a personal one like yours, Alfyn… but it is a rather dear story to my heart."

"Ohh… Say, Therion, you got a story?" Alfyn nudges the thief. Therion responds with a low snore, "Eh! You fell asleep?!"

Primrose smirks knowingly, "I suppose it will be bedtime for you after this, Alfyn."

"Aw, ok then," Alfyn refocuses on the vague silhouette of the dancer, "So what's your story, Prim?"

"It is a fairy tale I was told since I was young by someone … who was very important to me…" Primrose blinks slowly in reminiscence, "He was possibly… a crush of mine from when I was a young lady."

"Oh wow… Hehe, that sounds real nice, Prim…" The apothecary suppresses a yawn.

"Mm… now… let me see, how did it go again… Oh, it's been a while since I told a story like this…"

"_Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Gaia, there lived a princess named Garnet. From birth, she had been entrusted with a cruel fate of bearing a monstrous power in herself. This power, known as Alexander the eidolon, could destroy her continent if misused. Due to this power, she was imprisoned within the castle. Daily, she prayed to escape her fate…"_

"_It seemed as though the gods had heard her prayers when a mysterious thief named Zidane came to kidnap her. She went with him willingly, and they fled about the kingdom while the royal guards were hot on their heels. They had many adventures over the course of their time as fugitives, and princess Garnet came to fall for Zidane…"_

"_They ran about the Kingdom of Gaia until one day they met the evil Kuja. Kuja was an evil mage who desired the power latent within Garnet. He tore her from Zidane and spirited her away to his dimension surrounded in a beautiful cage of crystal essence."_

"_The noble thief and his merry band made out to rescue her at once from Kuja's clutches. Their journey took them far across the spans of the kingdom and even the world, for Kuja's magic prevented most entries into his stronghold. Desperate, Zidane sought the power of a powerful old sorcerer who told him how he might save Garnet. But the price would be his own life. Once Garnet was safely returned, Zidane's own life would be forfeit to the bargain."_

"_He did not hesitate. Though he knew the princess would be saddened by the ultimate outcome, he saw no other way. To him, the princess was more precious than his own life. And so, he made the deal with the sorcerer, and a gate to Kuja's lair was opened. The thief and his merry band walked bravely into the crystal dimension…"_

Alfyn yawns for the fifth time. Primrose chuckles, pausing the story, "Alfyn, you should rest."

"A-aw, but… it was just getting to the … aawwhn… good part…" He rubs his face tiredly.

"It's just a story, Alfyn… I can tell you it another time," Primrose says gently, coaxing him to sleep, "For now you must rest. We still have these mountains to climb after all tomorrow."

"Mm… alright…" Alfyn reluctantly mumbles, leaning on Therion like a pillow, "Don't stay up too late yerself… Prim…"

Primrose smiles to herself as the apothecary dozes off. The thief hadn't opened his eyes throughout the storytelling session at all. Perhaps he really was asleep? But the dancer decides to err on the side of caution and stay awake herself. The old man at her side snores with a whistling breath and small mumbles of something about crabs and the ocean.

_Come to think of it… We'll be passing into Rippletide after Cobbleston if we go north… Didn't Yusufa say she lived there with her mother? Maybe…_

Primrose shakes her head slightly. She was getting off track. If she found Yusufa's mother, she would give her a piece of her mind. But she wasn't going to delay her own goals for that. After all, that crow did not seem entirely stationary. She had to get to the Frostlands before she loses his trail.

_I can't let sentiment get in the way…_

Despite what her inner resolve advises, her mind thinks of that man with pale, silvery blue hair in a braid. That story was always her favorite. He had read it to her all the time, such that she memorized it by heart. But she still asked him for it. And he always obliged.

"_Primrose, have you ever thought to tell stories yourself?"_

"_Hm? What do you mean, Simeon?"_

"_Well, you love to dance right? That is telling a story with your body, using the flow of music and singing… Narration as I do is not much different, if not simpler."_

"_Nobody could ever tell stories like you, Simeon…"_

"_Ah, you are wrong dear Rose… When I see you dance, it's like my surroundings melt away into the tale you weave with your every step…"_

A story… what stories she had told with her body since then. A tale of a fallen, broken house, her sullied name, her murdered father, and her only purpose left in life being to kill.

_And you're not here anymore… Simeon…_

She leans back in her sitting spot and sighs a bit, hearing another howl from the mountain winds in the night. The cold did not bother her one bit.

* * *

Author's Notes:

1\. The bigger a sandworm, the better.

2\. Alfyn invented granola balls.

3\. Final Fantasy IX is great.


	10. Chapter 10: Highland Problems

The goats butt heads. About the area resounds the sound of what could be clubs smacking into each other. Undeterred, they ram again and again with their hard horns on the other's skull, each eager to hold their ground like the other. The ewe stands to the side with others of her sex, watching the fight with whimsical fancy. They may not even be there when the rams are done with their squabble. Another male may swoop in to take the prize with the two competitors distracted.

Alfyn watches with bated breath at the fight. He has his eye on the rams butting it out fiercely. The larger one gives a loud groan and charges hard to try and lift the other off their feet from underneath. The younger ram slams his hooves down on the other ram's advance and pivots to deliver a kick. The larger ram unfortunately is launched off the edge of the rocky ledge by the kick. There are sounds of the rocks shifting as the creature rolls down the side. Alfyn peers down to see the ram lie at the bottom of the ledge for a few moments before standing up and shaking itself off, one of its horns having broken from the fall. Having lost, it trots away with a lame gait.

The younger ram goes to the ewes and gently nuzzles his choice before the two lock necks and gently bray. With the fight determined, the goats all disperse.

Alfyn chuckles and leaps out of his hiding spot among the rocks. He carefully makes his way down the rocky ledge, holding fast to safe footholds along the way. His eyes scan the endless amounts of stone littering the site of the fall. After a few moments, his eyes show a slight sparkle when he sees what he sought: a jagged fragment from the ram's broken horn. Gleefully, he plucks it from the rocks.

Just as he rights his posture to examine his specimen, the loose rocks make him lose his footing and he gives a yelp as he teeters to try and keep his balance. His shifting weight only worsens the situations as several stones are sent pelting down the slope. At last, he gives a slight exclamation as he starts to fall backward.

He expects the rocks to start hurting him as he tumbles. They do, digging into his skin with their rough edges. He tumbles down the slope, trying to keep his head as sheltered as possible. After a bit of pain rolling, he ends up at the bottom where the ram had lay moments earlier. He groans, still lying there.

"… I _told _you not to go off on your own."

Alfyn looks up with a sheepish and dirtied grin to meet Therion's mildly exasperated face. The thief sighs.

"There's no helping people like you…"

"H-hey, don't be like that! These horns're real potent crushed up into a powder an' all!" Alfyn chuckles, holding up his prize, "And it's all jus' scrapes!"

"… Can you stand?"

"Yep! Never better-" The apothecary stands, but his knee buckles slightly when he tries taking a step and he falls onto Therion, who catches him, "Awp-"

"Idiot…" Therion half snarls and sighs, "Can't even walk."

"W-well I _can_ stand…"

"Save it," Therion puts the other's arm over his shoulder and hoists him up, "C'mon, this is just gonna set us back."

"No sweat, I've just got a scraped knee!" Alfyn grins.

_He's just enjoying this._

Therion rolls his eye as they return to where the dancer and old man awaited them. They had left their shelter a bit after dawn and Alfyn wanted to go explore around while they made breakfast. Therion knew he was liable to get into trouble with his unchecked fanaticism.

"Alfyn!" Primrose stands and quickly goes to examine the apothecary's dirty face, "What happened?"

"Idiot rolled down a slope," Therion blows a strand of hair out of his face, "All for some bird crap or something."

"It was a highland ram horn!"

Primrose can't help but laugh lightly, "Alfyn… you need to be more careful. We both admire your zeal but-"

"What do you mean _both_?" Therion sighs tersely, "He's got zeal that's just gonna get him killed. That's nothing to admire."

Primrose swiftly flicks him on the nose playfully before he can pull back, "I was talking about Sadiq and me then."

"Aw, Therion… Ain't there somethin' yer real passionate about that you'd risk life an' limb for?" Alfyn gingerly cleans out his scrapes with an antiseptic.

"No. I only have one life. Why the heck would I play around with it."

"Not even t' steal something?"

"Nope."

Primrose looks to him with an odd look, her head slightly tilted, and a faint smile present, yet drawn into a line. Her eyes have a mysterious glint of mischief in them, but she is silent. Therion barely meets her eyes before looking away.

He knew. She was thinking about when he'd thrown himself in front of her back in the caves of Rhiyo. Gods, why did he do that…

Primrose chuckles, "Well, Alfyn are you fit to continue going?"

"Heck yeah!" Alfyn jumps to his feet, having wrapped up his most major scrapes, "It'll take more 'n that t' get me down!"

"Good. It'd be very unfortunate to have to spend another night out in the wild…" Primrose stretches, "I do hope we will be in an inn in Cobbleston by tonight… How much further is the town even?"

"… A bit higher. Pretty sure that's where the pastures are…" Therion throws the vague detail out there. It had been a while after all, since he was in the Highlands, "Keeps out the rats too or something…"

"Hmm, I guess it's true that rats cannot reach what is on a higher shelf…" The dancer pushes a stray strand of hair in place, "Pastures though? I hadn't thought a place as rocky as this could support agriculture."

"Well they got goats I guess," Alfyn thinks a moment with a hand to his chin, "Ya can milk 'em an' they're native about these parts so that could be it."

"Perhaps, but I'm skeptical of that. Most of the goats and rams we have seen are as violent as monsters… They could likely trample a person to death," Primrose shrugs.

"Well, that's true…" Alfyn remembers that he had to hide the whole time he was watching those goats.

"We shall see regardless."

"Hey, old man, we're moving," Therion calls to the loony Sadiq playing hide-and-seek behind a small pile of rocks along the road.

…

A number of the roads on the Highlands, Therion recalls, are precariously narrow and rocky. There were more warning signs as they reached the higher elevations, many warning of hairpin turns. These were for the caravans, which would careen easily down into the rocks and crash. No doubt many of these bits and pieces of ruin are remains from such accidents.

However, there were other things in the area. Fragmented ruins like that of an old wall or ancient flag planted among the stones could be glimpsed flying in the wind. It's the thing he saw fluttering in the night. The old insignia is not one recognized by the thief.

"Say, Therion, what's that?" Alfyn points up at the fluttering flag.

"Dunno," The thief replies tersely, "Not important."

"It seems to be the flag of an old kingdom of these parts is all, Alfyn," Primrose climbs up another large set of stone steps, "It's not anything I know, but perhaps these steps came of their time."

"Ohh, neat!" Alfyn bounds after them. He then suddenly pauses in stride, "… huh?"

"…? What is it now?" Therion turns his head slightly.

"D'you guys smell that?"

"Hm? Smell what?" Primrose sniffs around, "I don't…"

Then she picked up the slightest whiff. Perhaps all these years of being near suffocated in perfumes and smoke had dulled her sense of smell, since the thief seemed to pick it up faster than her. The smell of smoke. They look up and about for the coils rising to the sky. There are none.

But where there is smoke, there must be a fire.

The thief's eye roves a bit along the ledge of rock above. However, it was Primrose who briskly pushed him out of the way when something aflame zipped his way. It lands a few feet on the ground, not having hit anyone. It is an arrow with a flaming head. Having hit the stones, its flame seems to sputter before extinguishing.

"Ah…" Alfyn looks to where the arrow may have come from the trajectory, "W-who's there?!"

"Ain't rats I hope… Too stupid to use bows…" Therion scrambles to his feet, daggers drawn.

"It came from above. Watch your heads. We'll have to run up to flush them out," Primrose draws her own daggers.

Another arrow comes streaking at them, specifically the dancer. Before she even dodges, the tip of Sadiq's spear blocks the arrowhead's point and swings, deflecting it off course entirely. It disappears over the rocky ledge.

"Up, up! Evil monkeys!" Sadiq shouts and gesticulates with his free hand like a mad simian himself.

Primrose nods and quickly darts. She jumps up vertically like a mountain goat might, taking advantage of minute steps along the uneven mountain wall. Therion follows in the same fashion. Sadiq and Alfyn are left to find a proper incline to climb.

Primrose arrives at the top first. Her eyes scan about the seemingly empty ledge.

_I saw a clatter of rocks spill over from here before the first arrow…_

Before she can finish her thought, a hard strike lands across her back, knocking her to the ground. It felt like something bar-like. Now she knew how it felt to get swept by Sadiq, probably.

"NGH-!"

"Ey, ey, that's a pretty one!" She hears the voice of her attacker briefly, "We- YEEARGH!"

She picks herself up and turns quickly enough to see Therion having felled the spear-wielding ruffian. The man seems alive still, just out cold.

"… Watch your back," He says as he looks around. Then he bends down to tie the ruffian up with his own belt. He had a nice pouch of money, which Therion takes.

She purses her lips and stands, ignoring the probable new bruise on her back, "I don't see the archer…"

There is a cry of pain to the right, leading back towards a lower elevation. It wasn't the voice of Alfyn or Sadiq. The two regardless run towards it. They see it is Alfyn and Sadiq having cornered a man as they approach. Sadiq has his spear pinning the man by his shoulder onto a slab of rock, where he squirms and wails in pain.

"EAGHH- GAH- OWWW! LEGGO!"

"Hey, you started it!" Alfyn kicks the bow away from his reach, "Why were you shooting at us huh?"

"Oh you found him," Therion and Primrose regroup with the two, "We beat another guy further up. He had a spear."

"Gh- You guys beat Ulrich…?! UGH-" The ruffian's words are stopped by the pain, "OWOWOWOW! STOP TWISTING-"

"Hold him," Therion bends down and rips the protesting ruffian's belt off. Despite the rampant cussing out of the man, Therion ignores it and ties his arms and legs together in front of him.

"I don't think ya should be beggin' fer Sadi t' pull out. Ya might bleed t' death if the wound ain't plugged," Alfyn closely inspects the bound man's wound.

"WH- DIE!?" That seems to increase his thrashing panic and howls of pain.

"Should we even consider keeping either of them alive?" Primrose looks idly back up to where the other ruffian ought to be.

Therion does not answer that. He had knocked the other guy out with the butt of his dagger only.

"Answer this then, and maybe we'll let you keep your shoulder," The thief sighs a bit, "Where's your big bandit leader?"

"Wh- I- I was only highwayin' a bit! An' this is our turf!" The ruffian tries to appear as tough as he can under the circumstances. The thief merely smirks, unamused. The man's eyes were that of a wild animal caught in a trap, zipping this way and that at his captors.

"… C'mon, we're burning daylight," Therion lightly tosses this ruffian's stolen purse in the air, catching it on the way down "He isn't talking. Leave him here to bleed out. Maybe the local ratkin fancy the smell of blood."

"Hey!"

The crew turns their heads to the new voice. By the slope where Primrose and Therion had descended are two young men. They are dressed in peasant garb with swords at their sides. Seeing the ruffian pinned down, they look to the quartet in a slight alarm.

"W-who are you people?"

"We're travelers," Primrose speaks up, placing a hand to her chest, a motion she found that often drew men's eyes to her breasts and away from other pressing matters, "We were on our way to Cobbleston when these bandits tried to ambush us."

"… Well you certainly don't like the bandits…" One of the men looks at them apprehensively, "Cobbleston's just a bit further up. We can take care of these thugs from here."

"Oh, are you Highland patrolmen?"

"Nay, ma'am. We're just honest folk from Cobbleston. Bandit attacks of recent have been getting out of hand in the area so we have to protect ourselves."

Ah, that explains it then. Therion still keeps an eye on the swords at their waists. They were definitely newer and better made than the one he had, from the looks of it. Should he risk it?

"Thank you, gentlemen," Primrose smiles and then looks to the old man, "Sadiq, you can let him go then."

Sadiq relentlessly pulls out his spear, eliciting a loud scream from the bound ruffian. His blood spurts freely now and he collapses on his side, writhing in pain and cursing them.

"YOU, YOU DAMN BASTARDS- AARGH! GASTON, HELP ME!"

As Primrose first moves to pass the men coming to collect the squirming bandit, Therion follows immediately behind. His hand lightly grazes the front of the belt and makes its way like a spider to the clasp where the sheath is held in place.

Perhaps it was because these men had been dealing with bandits, but the man's head whipped around in an instant to face the thief, who is now caught red-handed with his hand on the sheath of the blade. Perhaps Therion was just surprised. In the next moment, he found himself on the ground, having been thrown over the man's shoulder and slammed down within the blink of an eye. The man he tried to rob holds his offending hand by the wrist tightly, looking down at the thief as if he were dirt. Therion lightly growls back.

"So, you're a thief too eh?" That man's tone was just like the rest of them.

Primrose says nothing, having stood away a bit. She watches over her shoulder. It wouldn't do if these men are actually stronger than they seemed.

"Eh- EH?! Hey-!" Alfyn turns quickly from staunching the ruffian's wound to the new conflict, "Wh- What are you doing to Therion?!"

It seems he missed the whole thievery bit.

"He tried to steal my sword!" The man growls.

"Psh, can you prove it?" Therion gives a slightly mocking smile despite being held down at a disadvantage, "You just suddenly threw me for a loop there, bud."

"Quiet! Colton!" The man barks to his partner, "We have another for the gaol, it seems!"

"Well now all of you lot are suspicious," Colton looks to the rest of them. Primrose makes a small sound of annoyance with her tongue.

"W-what? We weren't tryin' anything!" Alfyn tries to diffuse the situation, "I'm sure this was all just a big misunderstandin'…"

"You're all coming with us!" The man holding the thief pulls him roughly to his feet and twists his arm behind his back, "And don't try any more silly tricks!"

"Tsk…." Once back on his feet, the persistent thief twists his arm bones a bit until there is a series of pops along his limb. His captor is startled and his hold slackens from the shock. With the grip loosened, Therion pulls away from him and darts over to Alfyn's side.

"Geh- He dislocated his joints!"

"T-Therion?" Alfyn looks over the thief in alarm, "Woah your arm! Hang on, I'll-"

Therion roughly shoves his bones back in their right sockets and order. He flexes the realigned arm without any problems. The apothecary's eyes bulge a bit watching the spectacle.

"… Child's play," Therion sighs.

"Why you-!"

"Enough, enough!" Primrose calls out exasperatedly. What a mess this turned out to be. "We're going to Cobbleston anyway so we will follow you."

"Huh? Aren't you in cahoots with that thief?!"

"I would rather we not fight out here. If he has punishment, he'll face it," Primrose shoots the thief a look of pure annoyance, which he seems to ignore.

"Doyle, should we tie them up as well?" Colton looks over to the other.

"W-wait, this is escalatin' a bit fast! We ain't criminals…!" Alfyn flails a bit.

"No, you have my word we will follow. But I refuse to be restrained," Primrose says a bit icily.

"And we're supposed to take your word for that?" Doyle scoffs, looking her up and down. He doesn't say it, but his sentiment shows perfectly in the judgmental look of his eyes.

_Harlot._

Primrose narrows her eyes. For a moment, Alfyn and Therion see her eyes flash red with black sclera.

At that moment, she considered her options. Could she possibly allure the two of them? It's not like she had much practice up to this point. She hadn't needed to allure anyone but Sadiq. But what would happen if she tried? Would her power weaken due to the spread? Or would her hold break completely, even over Sadiq?

The strings of their souls become apparent and the melody can be heard already as the ritual begins. She must try.

Therion and Alfyn watch as she seems to gracefully, subtly, dance up to the men in a sultry, suggestive manner. They could see slight wisps of darkness seemingly flickering in the periphery of their vision. Her terpsichorean movements were enrapturing even to those she did not seek to allure. When the dance seemed to end, it was as though she had just casually walked up to them.

"… Well, shall we be going to Cobbleston then?" Primrose says a bit breathily.

"… Yes, let's…"

Colton hoists the ruffian, who has by now passed out from blood loss and fatigue, over his shoulder and Doyle walks past Primrose back up the mountainside. Their eyes are a bit glassy and their voice is suddenly dull and monotone. A bit dumbstruck, Alfyn walks over to the dancer.

"P-Prim? W… What was that?"

"… I just… talked them into being agreeable…" She turns and walks after the two men. Her step wobbled, but she would not let it show. Using a multi-allure effect proved more taxing. It did not have the full effect, instead having just dispelled the hostile air.

"… Ya saw that, right, Therion?" Alfyn looks to the thief as he follows the dancer.

Therion grumbles something the apothecary doesn't quite catch. He walks ahead before Alfyn can ask again. The dumbfounded apothecary folds his arms and frowns. Seeing them moving ahead, he sighs and follows. Sadiq watches the rear, going last.

…

The perimeter of Cobbleston is a tapering of the rough stone that covers the rest of the area. Goats used to come up here to graze before humans claimed it and erected civilization. The green was allocated to pastures for domesticated mountain sheep and goats while much of the rocky area was cleared out and paved for walking. Not all of it could be flattened, and so Cobbleston still has high stairways that move from one part of its area to another. But this is a common characteristic of many principalities in the Highlands. The gods had simply made some rock too hard to level.

At the entrance of the town is a roughly hewn wooden gate. Trees are scarce, and the poles have been repaired for a long while. A simple strip of cloth hangs as an indicator of the wind from a wooden marker that rises into the sky. A heavy old bell hangs from a perpendicular piece of wood sticking out of the marker pole. The high winds here make it clank lowly, but not loudly. A rope hangs out from the clapper for emergency use.

Alfyn lets out a slight sigh of relief and bends over, grasping his knees, when they reach the town gate. The sun has long passed its highest point and is well on its way down toward the horizon.

"Wheeeew…!" The apothecary wipes sweat off his brow and chin as it runs down his face, "That's… some climb!"

Therion barely shows any fatigue. He was used to higher altitude air. It was a bit colder though, so it stung your lungs here. They had been walking at a leisurely pace before, but these two guards required faster legwork to follow. They picked up the ruffian with a spear on the way.

Primrose pants and coughs slightly. Dancing long bouts were no problem. That was how she developed her constitution. But this was new terrain. Her legs and lungs ached from the thinner air and often uneven rocky footing. She sits down on a nearby rock and gestures for Sadiq to bring her waterskin. She drinks thirstily.

"You ok, Prim?" Alfyn takes a swig from his own waterskin, "You got a bruise on your back…"

"I'm fine…"

"… Alright… now no more trouble from you…" Colton and Doyle say with very flat voices, like they're asleep. The two walk off with the restrained ruffians to the gaols.

"… Hmf," Therion eyes them with slight disdain as they go.

"Therion!" Alfyn grabs the thief's shoulder, "Ya oughta really thank yer stars!"

"Psh, why," The thief turns away.

"Cuz if Primrose hadn't stepped in, ya woulda definitely landed yerself a cold seat in the gaols with those guys!" Alfyn says with exasperation, "Least ya can do is thank 'er!"

"It's fine, Alfyn…" Primrose recomposes her breathing and stands, "It won't be necessary, so long as he's learned his lesson."

"Yeah, don't just go stealin' like that!" Alfyn hisses slightly.

"Or, if you do, please don't get us in trouble as well," Primrose shrugs slightly, "Anyways, we ought to find an inn now…"

Therion gives her a grudging look whilst her back is turned. She walks forth with Sadiq into the town square, followed by the thief and apothecary.

Indeed, it is nothing special among towns. They pass a rather skinny two-story house that belongs to the mayor. The square is plainly rimmed on one side where the ledge slopes down the mountain. The ground is paved as well as can be, with the rough touch of cobbled stones. The tavern is nearby, beyond which is a fenced-off pasture of mountain sheep. There is a slight smell of livestock. Plainly dressed people going about their day look occasionally at the extravagantly dressed dancer and the strangers following her.

"Excuse me…" Primrose stops a passing middle-aged woman, "Might you direct us to the local inn?"

"Ah, my aren't you lovely! We don't get a lot of travelers here…" The woman chuckles and points up a set of stairs, "Up this way, turn at the last house, and go up those stairs. The inn is to your left."

"Thank you."

The woman nods and walks away. Alfyn sighs a bit before slapping his cheeks.

"More stairs huh? Bring it on!"

"Cool it, eager beaver," Therion rolls his eye, "Save that for the monsters."

"Hehe… I thought there'd be a lot of stairs but I didn't think there'd be this much! The people here must have good physiques!" Alfyn grins, "Y' know walkin' and all that can be good fer your body! And irregular surfaces can be like foot massages!"

Primrose smiles slightly as they walk up, with Alfyn babbling the whole way about the benefits of an active lifestyle and a clean diet. But just at the door, she remembers the money situation. She was broke.

"Hm? What's up, Prim?"

"Ah… I was just realizing we may not have enough money…"

"No worries! We can all share a room to cut down on the cost!" Alfyn grins, "I got some leaves!"

"Oh yeah? How much? Ten?" Therion folds his arms.

"Wow, how'd ya guess?" Aflyn gawks.

Therion pinches the bridge of his nose with annoyance, "Ok, fine _I'll _pay. But you both better remember this and pay me back."

"Did you make a killing in Sunshade?" Primrose looks to him with a knowing smile. Even tired she could make him irritated.

Therion grunts and pushes past her into the inn. The innkeeper, a kindly looking bald man greets them.

"Hello, welcome travelers," He says softly, "You all look absolutely worn out."

"Uh-huh, how much for a room," Therion asks tersely.

"Only 15 leaves," The innkeeper smiles, "I reckon one room should fit all four of you. It might be a squeeze but…"

"We'll take it," Therion throws down a handful of coins.

After counting the payment, the innkeeper hands him a room key. Without another word, the thief goes to the room designated on the key and unlocks the door while Alfyn randomly starts chatting up a storm with the innkeeper. Opening the door, he finds a small room with a simple carpet, medium bed, a window, and washbasin. Two people could squeeze onto the bed probably.

"I got a bag so I'll be alright!" Alfyn takes out a covering, "You guys can have the bed!"

"How small do you think we are?" Therion sighs, "I'll just be on the floor."

"This is a rather nice room," Primrose sits with a sigh on the bed, "After a walk like that up the mountain, I don't really mind anywhere though."

"Hehe, a trek like that's bound t' work up a thirst! Let's hit the tavern!" Alfyn ropes an arm around Therion's neck with a jolly smile.

"Hmm… that's not a bad idea," Primrose smiles a little, "Perhaps later. I am thinking of putting on a small show myself."

"Keep a low profile why don't you," Therion mutters, "You're just gonna dance at every bar we go to or something?"

"Well, at the end of the day, I think my way of working is much more honest than yours," Primrose gives him a slightly snarky grin, "And I still don't think you'd like any of the other services I have to offer to pay you back."

"What services?" Alfyn asks obliviously as he digs around his satchel, "Ah, Therion, I owe ya… what, four leaves?"

"That's fine," Therion sighs and takes the money from the apothecary. He retreats to a corner of the room to stow away the coins.

"And… for you, Prim!" Alfyn hands Primrose a small piece of ice, "If yer legs are tired, rub it along the skin of the joints and it oughta help cool down any inflammation! Oh, and it oughta lessen the bruising on yer back!"

"Oh… Thank you," Primrose takes the gift and begins applying it, "… Hehe, what you can do as an apothecary never ceases to amaze me, Alfyn."

"Hey, it's all in a day's work!," Alfyn grins, "Say, I'm gonna go look around a bit! It's a new town and all, so I can't just sit around!"

"All by yourself?"

"Hehe, I ain't no kid anymore! I can take care o' myself a bit, I'll reckon! And then we can go for drinks at the tavern!"

Primrose eyes Therion out of the corner of her eye. The thief just sits in the corner of the room, arms folded. She relents with a light sigh.

"… Well, alright Alfyn. Do keep yourself out of trouble…"

"Hehe, you can count on me! Be back in a bit!" He grins and walks out of the room.

Primrose waves a bit to him as he leaves. After the door closes, a silence settles in the room. Sadiq seems to have been more tired than he let on, as he falls asleep at the foot of the bed, hugging his bloodied spear. The dancer looks at the thief. He meets her gaze right back.

"… You couldn't help yourself?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow like a disapproving parent.

"Oh shut up," Therion mutters. He hadn't thought these backcountry people to be as sharp to notice him. They were more aware than the Sunlanders for sure. Damn, he let his guard down.

"I'm not going to scold you because you wouldn't listen anyway…" Primrose sighs, "But you should know that if you do anything like that, you can't do it half-heartedly. Next time, you might end up with worse than even a fool's bangle."

He seethes at the lecture regardless, "You'd know all about that, huh?"

"…Well, like it or not, neither of us is doing things exactly… _legal_ all the time," Primrose's brow furrows a bit, "It's not something that I'm going to shame you for. I'm sure you've heard enough of that as it is. So for the time whilst we travel together, I'm just asking that you show more consideration."

He just snorts in response. Then, after a pause of silence, he scathingly says, "Consideration… like how you mind-controlled them?"

"… You just can't leave that alone, can you," Primrose looks down at her feet, rubbing Alfyn's ice along the sore parts, "It was to cover for your mess, so I think you ought to be thanking me."

"I don't remember you mind controlling Sadiq for anyone's sake."

"He's … special," Primrose says quietly towards the end. There was obvious hesitation in her tone.

Therion scoffs, "Yeah, right."

"You know, pointing out other things doesn't change the fact that you messed up," Primrose shoots back.

"I'd really just rather not hear it from you, Princess," He turns away, facing the wall.

Now it's Prim's turn to scoff. She thinks better than to continue the pointless exchange. They sit in the ensuing silence with an air of prickly thorns.

"... I'm going to wash off the desert sand."

The dancer gets up and walks out of the room without another word. The thief contentedly snorts. Maybe now he could get some quiet.

The dancer is directed to a small communal bath at the back of the inn upon inquiring with the innkeeper. There is not another soul to be seen about the big wooden tub by the small well. Guests have to draw their own water for a bath. The tub could fit about three people at most on a glance.

Prim quietly undresses. As she places her sand-speckled clothes on the small bench provided, she goes to take out the folded map that points her to her next destination. The Frostlands, an unexplored territory for her. For a long time, she had gotten used to the heat, so she must take care not to catch a chill. There were only a few towns she could name to narrow her search in the region. The nearest on route would probably be Flamesgrace.

She looks over the parchment for a few moments, just staring at the paper and its scribbles. The shorthand she could decipher somewhat. She had seen Arianna use a similar kind of style when making messages for her father.

_Kyra... Renee, Trina..._

The names of women.

She had heard some of the discussion back in Sunshade, when she crouched in waiting for the crow to take his leave from the inn. He'd shown interest in some of the dancers under Helgenish's employ, one of them being herself. It might be some sort of trafficking ring. All the more reason she had to kill him once she found his roost. The world is simply better off without those kinds of men polluting the air with their filthy breath.

As her eyes fell upon the accursed symbol of the crow, her blood boiled and she hastily refolds the map, tucking it back where she took it from. She then goes to undo the clasp on her necklace. The scratches on her chest have healed completely.

Looking down a bit, she sees the birthmark and its recent extending tendrils, reaching out across her chest like little veins. For now, Helgenish's necklace does the trick to cover it up.

Thinking back to her master, Primrose looks to the gaudy necklace in her hand. For a moment, she wondered why she kept it. If it was to cover her chest, a bandanna would have sufficed and perhaps been less conspicuous.

But she wasn't the type to settle for drab and safe. The necklace was once a collar that tied her down. But without someone holding the other end, what is it but a trophy? A vestige from her slain master, dead by her hand.

A small smile forms across her lips as she puts the jewelry down. There is an undeniable euphoria associated with that memory of dragging the knife across that vulnerable flesh of a neck. All those years of abuse and groveling had led up to that. A final, satisfying dance...

Her only regret was Yusufa, of course. Her smile vanishes.

Quietly, she goes to now settle into the waters of the bath she drew for herself.

…

Alfyn strides briskly about, taking in the sights. He is aware of the time getting closer to dusk after that exhausting trek. But having just come recently out to the wide world, he had an expected sense of curiosity.

Sunshade had shocked him, in good and bad ways. But Therion had been there too. This time, he was on his own to look around.

"Alright!" He shouts at the top of his lungs.

Atop this point in the mountains, his voice carries all the way over town with ample echo. People turn their heads to stare a bit at this boisterous stranger. Alfyn blushes a bit before going about his way.

The rest of the town is still an experience for the apothecary despite it having the usual blacksmiths, general store, and little else. The air feels chilled and thin due to altitude, and he found himself shivering every once in a while when a particularly strong wind blew. He drapes on the scarf packed away in his bulging satchel and digs his fingers in his pits to keep them warm while he shuffles about.

As he walked down the steps to a lower level of the town, he sees a small group of people gathered before a man with some old armor. The rest are all are armed like Colton and Doyle were, more or less. The man seems to be their leader. As he passes, Alfyn picks up on the conversation a bit.

"…caught two today. Good job, men. But we need to remain vigilant in these times. Just last week, Lila was nearly ambushed gathering herbs north."

"Those consarned bandits…"

"And they seem to be waiting for something…"

"Don't worry. Berg has taught us all well!"

"Right! They won't get us so easily!"

The men rally with a hearty cheer.

"Gee…" Alfyn says to himself thoughtfully, "Seems they got enough problems besides the monsters…"

The apothecary couldn't quite think of not helping out. It was simply in his nature. These people were likely suffering and he was here. He could help them!

He spins on his heel and strides back to the gathering. Most of the men have dispersed save the leader. Alfyn approaches him, and he looks to the stranger in the green vest with apprehension and initial surprise.

"Oh… hello. Can I help you…"

"Yeah! The name's Alfyn and I'm an apothecary! I, uh, couldn't help but hear about your trouble with the bandits. Anythin' I can do to help?"

"An apothecary?" The man quirks an eyebrow and looks him over, "Never seen you around these parts."

"Yeah, me and my friends arrived just today!"

"… Thanks, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. Can't just trust a man out of the blue, see-" He turns to walk away, and then nearly stumbles on his first step, dropping on one knee, "-Argh…!"

"Woah, you ok?" Alfyn kneels to his side, "Is it your leg? Let me help!"

"I-It's nothing… just an old war injury…" The man grunts as he struggles to stand, "Damn it all…"

Alfyn quickly pulls an arm around him and supports his side, "I said I was an apothecary, and I am gonna treat you!"

The man tries to protest in vain as Alfyn walks him to a nearby stoop and sits him down.

"Now…" Alfyn says as he rummages through his satchel, "Which leg?"

"You really don' have to-"

The apothecary lightly taps his right knee and he cringes in pain. Alfyn swiftly removes that foot's boot and rolls up the pant leg to reveal the injured knee, which looks to have an old scar. The skin around the joint is a bit purplish and blotchy. Alfyn whistles a bit as he examines the joint.

"Yeesh, and you've been fighting bandits like this?" Alfyn puts a cooling hand on the knee and gently massages it, "'M surprised ya can still stand!"

"I'm the captain of the watch, for Winne's sake!" The man exclaims with exasperation, "I have to perform better than this … to protect us from the bandits…!"

He winces slightly at the treatment, then seems surprised as the cooling touch mitigates most of the pain.

"Don't neglect yourself though!" Alfyn pulls out some gauze and starts wrapping the knee, "Or 'else, who's gonna lead the men if ya keel over from exhaustion? Or take a nasty blow cuz yer knee had ya occupied? Ya gotta take care 'o yerself fer those who look up t' ya!"

"… Gah, whatever," The captain sighs irritably as his treatment finishes, "Thanks, I guess… What do I owe ya?"

"Nothing! You just give it your all defending Cobbleston alright?" Alfyn puts his boot back on with a grin.

The man stares at the strange apothecary, a bit dumbstruck. Alfyn waves a bit before going further down the steps towards the rest of town. The captain watches the green vest go until it is swallowed by the grey of the surrounding stone.

…

When the orange sky of dusk came, Alfyn had pretty much covered all of Cobbleston on foot. He had a bit of trouble finding his way back to the inn and had to ask a nice lady to point him in the right direction. He opens the door to find Sadiq asleep at the foot of the bed, Primrose doing her make-up, and Therion just sitting, seemingly unmoved.

"I'm back!"

"I can see that," Therion looks up, unamused, "How was the neighborhood?"

"Oh, it's real nice! The people're down-t' earth an' real swell once ya get t' know 'em!" Alfyn grins, "There's this guy, Ernst, he's a cowherd, or, well, more of a goatherd, who manages the pastures an' livestock we saw! Olaf's the head farmer around these parts an' he gets his manure from Ern-"

"Fascinating," Therion cuts him off with a sigh as he stands and stretches, "Alright, bar time?"

"I would say now is a good time," Primrose closes her compact, "It's the time of day the tavern usually gets ready."

"What about Sadi?" Alfyn looks to the snoozing old man.

"He's rather tired. We can just bring him back a souvenir of ale for tomorrow."

The three leave with a small note for the old man. It is nearly dark when they reach the tavern at the lower level of the town. The torches that illuminate the main roads are slowly lit. At the borders of the town stand armed men. Therion averts his gaze when he thinks he sees Doyle or Colton again.

The tavern is rather quiet and somber despite the rather large crowd. Many of the goers seem to be a part of the local watch. A bar wench runs about delivering the drinks and food, as well as a long yammering about her interest in archaeology. When the party enters, she enthusiastically hops up to greet them, a big smile on her freckled face.

"Hiya! I'm Noelle! Oh, wow! You folks aren't from around here, are you? Gosh, that's a pretty necklace! It looks like a Sunland fashion, am I right? See, you can tell from the curvature of the inside here in the individual medallions-"

"Noelle," An older man with a scarred face from a nearby table calls for her, "Focus. Don't hound visitors to death."

"Oh whoopsie! Sorry about that! Follow me!"

Primrose finally breathes once the bubbly girl stops talking. Noelle quickly seats them down before darting off to another table to yak away as she serves.

_Wow, and I thought this one was talkative_. Therion glances at Alfyn at his side.

"She seemed really bubbly!" Alfyn smiles as he takes in the bar scene.

"… Lots of guards here huh," Therion leans on one arm propped up on the table, "Great."

"Ya really wanna perform here, Prim? There ain't even a stage…" Alfyn looks around the establishment.

"Well, I didn't always have a stage to dance on… When you're a dancer, sometimes you simply make the world your stage," She smiles and stands, "Order me any ale. I have no preference."

Therion rolls his eye and draws his scarf tighter about his face. This princess is just too showy for her own good. She walks away from their table and Noelle approaches again in a few moments after. The thief wonders if the dancer just dodged a bullet.

"Heya strangers! Remember me, Noelle? Oh, wow that cape's weaving pattern looks real neat! It doesn't look like it's from Highland wool!"

Therion just chooses to remain quiet.

"Hehe, so, what can I get you? Oh, where'd that pretty lady go? There was a lady with you both right?"

"Uhh, she's off talking to the barkeep," Alfyn gives a friendly smile, "We'll just have three ales."

"Great! I'll get you each a mug of Cobbleston's finest! Haha, not that we have any other ales, you know?" Her eyes positively light up when she looks Alfyn over, "Oh, a green vest and a satchel… you're an apothecary!"

"Hehe, guilty as charged!" Alfyn laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm Alfyn. And this is Therion!"

Therion had to restrain himself from wanting to sock Alfyn for giving out their names so casually.

"Ya seem really interested in clothes, Noelle!" Alfyn continues.

"Aha, how'd you guess? I'm actually a student in archaeology in Atlasdam, you know! But I'm earning more tuition for the time being!"

"Ohh, that explains a lot, hehe!" Alfyn chuckles, "It's that expensive t' study huh?"

"Well yes, and my father isn't the most supportive, but I'm not going to let that stop me! After this break, I am definitely returning for another semester! They have the best education after all!"

Therion edges away from the two chatting up a storm. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of non-stop bantering to the thief, Noelle goes off to get their drinks.

"Gods, finally…" Therion mutters. He had tuned them out almost entirely, and that took focus.

"She's a nice girl, Therion! Ya oughta chat with other people a bit too! Actually," Alfyn looks around, "Think anyone knows anythin' about those dragonstones?"

"… Why don't you ask," Therion sighs, "I'm not really … looking to talk to them."

In truth, he had done a lot of interrogation on his own before. Buy a drink for them and the fools usually loosen their tongues. The problem here is the atmosphere and the people. Not a lot of the men have drinks. They seem more eager on eating. The bandit threat has them on higher alert. That's bad news for a thief who works better under a laxer environment.

"Well, don't mind if I do!"

Alfyn marches off to a nearby table, leaving the thief alone. Just then, he sees Noelle approach again with their drinks. He has to resist calling to stop Alfyn from leaving him with this barmaid. Damn, he's left alone with the worse of the two chatterboxes…

"Here ya go!" Noelle plunks down the three foamy ales, "Enjoy, ok? Oh, where's Alfyn?"

Therion doesn't reply, instead responding with a dismissive gesture, waving his hand towards the other tables. His other hand takes a flagon and he just drinks, hoping she'll go away if he gives her the cold shoulder.

"Gee, I've never seen anyone with white hair before? Where' you from? Wait, don't tell me, uhm… Everhold!"

Therion just ignores her.

"So-" She goes to continue but is cut short by music.

The two of them turn heads as there is a sudden riff from a bandore. In fact, all the heads under the roof of the establishment turn, really. All eyes rest on Primrose at the center of the tavern, doing her warmup steps to a sultry tuned dance. The local bard has his instrument perched up as he strums up a rather sassy tune to accompany her.

"Woahhh…!" Noelle gazes at the dancer's entrancing movements, "She's so … so… graceful!"

Therion quietly is grateful she stopped talking and sips his drink, his eye occasionally watching the dancer move about the room. Even the stone-faced stoic guards seemed taken off guard when she lightly touched them on her shoulder. One even flicked her a gold coin, which she catches and stows away, all without missing a beat. Her form is flawless, radiant even. It's unlikely this is a common sight here in mountain bumpkin town. The bruise from the bandit earlier is perfectly concealed with her cosmetics. The mask she always wears is still up, but it seemed to be a bit softer than when she danced for the patrons of Sunshade.

Alfyn makes cheers along with some other men who seem to have already gotten all buddy-buddy with him. His people skills are off the charts.

Eventually, the dance ends. Alfyn gives a standing ovation and some people whistle. Primrose curtsies lightly, having collected a nice amount from the crowd. She chuckles at the calls for an encore and says, "Perhaps another day."

After that, she retakes her seat at the table with the thief. Noelle stares as she approaches, speechless for once. She hurries away after some other customers call for her service. Alfyn makes his way back to the table as well, done with his little chats.

"Hehe, you were amazing, Prim!"

"Thank you, Alfyn," She smiles and takes her flagon of ale, "It is a rather nice crowd here."

Therion shrugs and finishes his drink. Alfyn chugs his quickly. The people around quickly chatter a bit, pointing at the table of strangers.

"Brand's thunder, that was quite a show…!"

"I know. Tis a shame Sir Berg wouldn't come tonight… he's missed a great spectacle."

"Here," Primrose pushes some coins over to Therion, "That's mine and Sadiq's share of the room cost."

The thief pockets the change with a grunt. For the most part, the thief and dancer drink in silence as Alfyn prattles on about some details he'd learned about the town and its people. Primrose occasionally shows interest. It felt good to rest after the prior days of travel. The people in the tavern also seemed to loosen up after the performance, and some raucous discussion begins to rise. Amid the talking, Therion picks up something over the noise first: The sound of a bell.

There is suddenly a loud slam as the front door of the tavern is thrown open. A guard with numerous wounds on his person looks about with raving eyes.

"BANDITS!"

He screams hoarsely before collapsing on his knees. The other men in the tavern immediately stand, some to support him, others to run out past him. The sound of the bell is now much clearer.

"Huh, I guess party's over…" Therion says nonchalantly.


	11. Chapter 11: Enter The Mercenary

While Therion and Primrose were largely unfazed with the recent development, Alfyn darts at once to the injured guard who came limping in. He kneels down beside him while others stand to run out to their posts. His attentive eyes glance and take in all the injuries quickly as his hands work independently to pull the man aside so they avoid blocking the door.

The guard has several grazes on his arms and legs, likely from arrows. Those are small wounds. What worries Alfyn the most is the two shafts poking out of his back, where the arrows had pierced true, through the armor and into his abdomen from behind. It'd be optimistic thinking they didn't hit anything vital.

The pub is nearly all empty, save some frightened civilians. Therion and Primrose walk over to Alfyn.

"… You got this right?" Therion says impassively.

"Y-yeah… careful guys. These bandits're probably usin' arrows t' keep distance…"

"I'm going to go back to the inn to fetch Sadiq," Primrose says, "That is… if he hasn't woken up already."

"Yeah, he's got one hell of a battle sense…" Therion goes to step out now and smirks slightly into the night, "Better than the guards here, I'll bet."

"Therion…!" Alfyn sighs, "Just be careful ok? Don't get too cocky…"

"Hear that, Therion?" Primrose chuckles as she passes the thief, "Don't worry, Alfyn. We'll be fine."

"He needs to watch himself is more like i-" Primrose yanks Therion away before he finishes his sentence.

The dancer and thief run out into the night, leaving the apothecary with the injured guard in the tavern. Alfyn suppresses his worry for them as he hastily binds the minor wounds. If he disturbed the arrows now, they might cause an internal hemorrhage. He looks to the tavern keeper.

"Uh, y' think y' can help me here? Got a bed I can use? Or a table, anything?"

"U-uhm…" The tavern keeper seems to regain his senses after the brief stint of chaos, "W-why yes, t-table… Noelle help him with Gregory…"

The bald man moves to hastily clean a nearby table. Noelle seems to also snap out of her daze and hurries over to Alfyn. For a moment it seemed the event had stilled her tongue.

"G-Gregory is … Anything I can do to help, Alfyn?" She asks him with urgency in her voice and slight desperation in her eyes.

"Yeah, help me with his legs, would ya? We gotta move 'im to a table so I can treat those arrow wounds…"

The barmaid nods and grabs the guard's legs. Alfyn hauls his upper body and the two manage to lug the man over to the table the tavern keeper cleared. They lay him down with his back facing up, showing the two arrow shafts protruding out from his lower back. Gregory barely moans as he's moved, completely unconscious.

"Oh… ohh…" Noelle withdraws a bit seeing the dark liquid seeping, as well as the puddle on the floor from earlier. She takes the mop offered from the tavern keeper with shaky hands and goes to clean the blood up from the doorway.

Alfyn pulls off the guard's armor, careful around the entry wound, before also removing his clothes. He takes out a handful of moss and a grape leaf. Using his mortar and pestle, he grinds up the materials into a paste, releasing the essence of grape from the leaf. Taking a small knife from his bag, the one usually for cutting herbs, he looks hard at the arrow wound's area.

It would definitely be a difficult surgery. He'd only ever read about arrow wounds, since they didn't use a lot of them in the Riverlands. And the monsters didn't either. The closest thing he'd ever done was a wasp sting, and those you could rip out even past the barb. But an arrow was bigger. It catches on more and tears more if ripped out improperly. People would die during treatment for arrows rather than being shot by them. Goren told him about how there were soldiers who just lived with an arrowhead stuck in them and bore the pain for the rest of their lives just due to how dangerous the removal procedure was.

The trick to getting it out was to slice out the flesh it was caught on. That was very invasive and risked damaging a lot of surrounding tissue. The second method was pushing it out the other way and then pulling it by the head. But that was little better than the first method. There were supposedly tools to remove arrows with varying accuracy all over Orsterra. The one Zeph's dad had told him about was developed in Atlasdam and had the most success so far. They call it the spoon of Dohter. He didn't have anything like that. Much too pricey for some bumpkin to ever afford, much less come across. It would have to be done solely with this knife.

Taking a breath, Alfyn steels himself, "Uh, can you guys get Gregory a cloth, or summin' to bite on? This is… gonna hurt a bit and I don't want 'im to wake up bitin' his tongue."

The tavern keeper takes a couple of moments before registering the request. Snatching a dish cloth, he affixes it in a wad between Gregory's teeth.

"Nasty things, arrows…" Alfyn steadies his hand and slides in his knife alongside the shaft, digging it towards the head. Gregory twitches as he does so. Slowly, Alfyn lets his sense of touch take over. The knife can locate the arrowhead and then carve out the flesh around it. He just had to be careful. No matter what, this guy wasn't dying tonight.

He feels something hard. He'd found it. Now for the surgery. Moving the knife around the head gingerly, he could feel the flesh peeling away from the metal. Leaving any of the dead flesh in there was basically begging for an infection, but that comes second to the removal. Gregory was now twitching, an unconscious grimace forming on his face. The pain was making him lucid. But Alfyn felt the arrowhead loosen. It could be taken out now.

Applying the paste he'd made around the entry wound, Alfyn grips the arrow shaft and keeps a hand on the application. With a victorious flourish, he pulls out the arrow with its bloody head. Quickly, as blood bubbles and threatens to flood from the now free wound, he applies his magic, freezing the paste into a seal on the wound. The essence in the paste would speed up the body's natural healing factor. Now for the second arrow…

…

The fire of the torches did not lift all the darkness in the night, nor did it fully illuminate the streets of Cobbleston as its warriors battled the unseen threat. The bandits had been stayed from households at the very least by the night watch. However, they had come in larger numbers than expected, and practically surrounded much of the access points into the town. From higher ground, they had men shooting down at the guards, many of which could not see their attackers from above in turn.

"YAARGH!" A bandit pops out from the shadows at an unsuspecting guard. Before the guard reacts, Therion trips him from behind so the bandit's blade swipes open air. The thief then jams his dagger into the bandit's gut before pulling it out. The bandit gives a loud yell, falling back on his ass and clutching his wound. He'll live. The guard looks up to the stranger savior.

"Uh, thank-" The guard starts, regaining his tongue.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Therion rolls his eyes.

"Uh- oh, right!" The guard scrambles to his feet and runs back down the street.

Therion sighs and looks down at the bandit straining with his injury. He takes out his rope and proceeds to tie the guy up, "I wouldn't move too much if I were you. Poison'll just get you faster that way."

"Y-you… fuc…" The bandit's words are cut short as he coughs on the foam forming at his lips. Then he passes out, trussed up like a roast bird at Therion's feet.

The thief sighs. Bandits and thieves. There is a thin line between the two. Bandits were more like thugs, pirates and ruffians. They're rougher and don't mind the scuffle. They don't care if they're loud or seen. They don't mind killing. They care only about getting something out of it. In the world of thieves, Therion always heard Marta scolding those in the gang.

"_I din't raise y'all t' be those swine of fakes! Yer thieves and you have an honor you hear! That's what makes ye different!"_

She didn't like conflict. Aimed above it. A thief, she would always emphasize, goes for just the goods, not to harm. Their signature is leaving targets confused at most, not dead. _"We aren't fighters,"_ she often said. Therion could hear her chewing him out in her head for having been involved in the recent slew of battles. He himself was wondering right now what he was doing.

"… Where'd the damn princess go…" He sighs and looks around for any signs of the dancer. They had gotten separated just shortly after leaving the tavern. She heard some stupid cry for help and ran towards it. He lagged a bit, which then allowed a bandit to get between them. He ended up running to the inn, hoping she ran there afterward. Sadiq was nowhere to be seen in their room, as luck would have it. The innkeeper timidly told the thief from under his desk that the old man might have run out at the first sound of the bell. But he was hiding so he couldn't be totally sure.

From this higher vantage point, he surveys Cobbleston. The town is now a virtual battleground, as far as he can see. By a nearby torch, he sees a flash of red moving, and something like gold glinting in the light of the fire. It was her. She's squaring off against some bandit with two swords. But her movements look restricted. She's not dancing around like usual. That already puts her at a disadvantage. He couldn't quite spot what was wrong from this distance.

Therion sighs with mild annoyance and grabs the ledge of the rocky outcrop before the inn. Due to the architecture, it is actually surprisingly easy to scale down from the top, with many buildings built so close to the mountain walls. His feet slide down along the rock before finding footing on the shingled roof below. Then he starts jumping to the next lower one, making his way to the dancer.

…

Just a few paces from the tavern, Primrose heard the voice of a little girl. It was spellbinding, what one word would do when it sounded just right, said the right words the right way.

"_FATHER!"_

The scenery of Cobbleston suddenly just melted away. Her feet move without much of her needing to tell them to. That voice she heard was that of herself, ten years ago. What she had not been able to say, to cry out. She didn't hear the thief call after her as she ran towards it. She wasn't aware where she was going, but she somehow maneuvered past other people fighting in the cobbled streets and found the source without thinking.

A little girl with freckles and braids cowers near the slumped body of a man at the side of a house, murmuring for her father repeatedly. The man has stab wounds in his abdomen, blood pooling around where he lay. His hands are limp at his sides and his face is ashen. Around them, the sounds of Cobbleston under siege rises.

"F-fatherr…." The girl sobs pitifully and repeatedly wipes at the tears cascading down her face. She clings to her father's clothes, gently trying to shake him awake.

Primrose's breath catches in her throat. For a moment, she saw darkness tinge the edge of her vision. No, she wasn't blacking out. It was fury. She was feeling that cold fury once more, reliving that day and that moment when she had been reduced to this same state.

Biting back her anger momentarily, she goes to the little girl's side to comfort her.

"Hey… Are you alright?" She speaks gently.

"M-Muh… fathurr… please, miss… unh…" She looks to the dancer with wide pleading eyes, snot and tears dripping, "B-bad guy … he had… a knife and…!"

"Come. There is an apothecary at the town tavern. He can help your father…" She goes to lightly pull the little girl away.

"N-Nooh!" The girl clings stubbornly, "'M… 'm not leaving h-him!"

It's to be expected. She would have clung then too.

"… What is your name?" Primrose manages a small smile despite the need for revenge eating away at her inside.

"M-Meri…"

"Meri, your father will be alright… he needs help and we need to go get it to him. The bad people are everywhere now and he wouldn't want you hurt as well…"

Gods, it was what her father wanted her to understand that night.

Before Meri can answer, her eyes widen and she seems fearful. Primrose turns just in the nick of time to see a bandit with two swords bringing one down upon her. With a quick reflex, she meets the strike with her dagger. The blades clash but she dare not give an inch despite the apparent difference in strength. Instead, she kicks at the bandit, who jumps back a few paces from her and Meri. The little girl resumes her crying.

"Yer a pretty lil' thang ain't ya? I think ye'll make a nice wench fer us!" The bandit leers, brandishing his weapons.

Primrose glares at him and she sees positive red. However… she shouldn't use her magic near Meri so overtly. Her other hand goes to draw a second dagger and she takes her battle stance.

The bandit rushes in, a flurry of blades. It seems these bastards aren't just all strength. They're fast too.

"Dance, baby, dance!" He raves.

Primrose clicks her tongue and is about to dance circles around his pitiful tirade. But then his blades suddenly reach at an odd angle past her, going straight for…

"NGH!" She barely catches the blades within the cross of her daggers. The movement was awkward due to her not expecting him to suddenly change trajectory for the girl behind her.

"Hehe! Oh ya got nice moves…"

Primrose spits at his feet, "Swine!"

"Aw, dear, yer breakin' me heart!" He laughs and kicks at her midriff. She coughs, staggering a bit. He lands a slash on her shoulder, "'Course, I like 'em feisty!"

"Shut… up!" She slashes up at his face suddenly, missing him by mere hairs. He hops back, a thin red line drawn across his face. Meri behind her has quieted her cries somewhat.

"Yer quick too. Hehe," The bandit lightly smears the blood on his face, "But can ya really win protectin' dat kid?"

"Scum of the earth…" Primrose growls, "You already took her father…!"

With her sudden burst of anger, she rushes him with increased speed. He seems taken unawares and tries to block a tad slowly. Her dagger cuts into the side of his neck, knicking one of the jugular arteries. The blood spews from his wound and he gives a loud yell.

"AAAGH!"

The dancer silences him with a stab to the chest. He coughs and garbles his words a little before dropping his swords to the ground. Primrose pulls out her dagger and pushes him off. She turns to look over to Meri.

"Meri? Are you…"

She sees the little girl at the hands of another bandit. This one holds a knife to her freckled face and looks at Primrose with a bit of a hungry look. Meri seems to have run out of tears, now instead fearfully quiet.

"… you…" Primrose silently curses her oversight at having left Meri's side.

"That's some nice jewelry you got," The bandit says in a low voice, "Take it off."

Primrose starts undoing her necklace slowly.

"Faster! Or I'll gut this one like I did her daddy…" The knife presses on Meri's cheek, eliciting a whimper.

The darkness was calling. It called for blood and release. It was building like an uncontrollable wave with her helplessness fueling it. She could murder him. Right now. She should.

_Kill him… Just do it…_

Her eyes burnished with a hellish hue, the same which scared the trousers off Helgenish. There was that pain in her chest again, only it felt like a good fire was burning. Darkness tinged her vision once more, and she saw Meri and the bandit slowly grow unsettled looking at her. That's right… be afraid…

_WHUMP_

The thief slides down from the nearby rooftop and squarely plants his feet on the side of the bandit's head. The latter collapses like a sack of potatoes, relinquishing his hold on Meri. Therion lands on his feet neatly and dusts himself off.

"… You ok?" He asks without even looking at her.

The murderous rage subsides for now, replaced with sudden relief.

"… Yeah, thanks…" She walks over and kicks the bandit, knocked out cold, "You have nice timing."

"The whole place is overrun. Sadiq wasn't at the inn," He mutters, "We oughta skip town."

"… Let's at least get this child to safety first then…" Primrose looks back to Meri and her father, "We need to bring him with us. He'll die of bleeding out."

Therion rolls his eyes, "We're only going to get slowed down."

"She'll make a fuss without him. Come on, I'll buy you a drink when it's over."

That's a terrible deal.

"Moving him might just make him die faster."

"… Then you stay here with her and I'll go get Alfyn."

"Look, how do you know he isn't already dead…?" Therion hisses the last part. Meri luckily did not seem to hear.

"… I'm going to get Alfyn."

Before Therion can object, the dancer runs off, back to the tavern. It's gotta be that history with her father that's messing with her. Why else go so far? Therion kicks the bandit at his feet nonchalantly when he groans.

"_Yer jus' a sentimental sap ain'tcha, Therion?"_

Therion draws his blades as he hears more steps converging.

"It's gonna be a damn long night..."

…

Primrose ran through the streets where the local guard was attending to wounded. There were calls to retreat, probably from the bandits. Those damn bastards…

There is a loud bellow at the street opening before her, making her suddenly aware of her surroundings. A large blade swings out, throwing off the body of a bandit from its length. It is a blade larger than any she had ever seen. The figure holding it steps out from the shadows, carrying already two others slumped over his shoulder. He wore the clothes of the peasants, made of sackcloth. His face was grim and worn with scars, one most notable by his temple. Despite his aged face, his hair was mostly still black, though streaked in placed with grey. His eyes were dark and hardened orbs. He sees the dancer and the wound on her shoulder.

"… Miss, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," She glances at those he carries, "… You should take them to safety."

"There is a traveling apothecary apparently set up for the moment in the tavern. Let us make haste."

Of course Alfyn is already working his skill. The dancer follows behind the stranger silently as they run back to the tavern. The sounds of battle seem to be dying down around town.

"I must apologize for what this seems like to a newcomer in Cobbleston," The man says gruffly as they run, "But there has been a recent rash of bandit activity. And they are very bold."

Maybe Therion has a point about skipping town.

Just as they near the square, there is a blur of movement towards the man. Without much thought, the dancer sends a lash of darkness at it along with her thrown dagger. The projectile bounces cleanly off, mere inches from the man's head, and embeds itself into the nearby wall of a house. It is an arrow. Primrose swiftly catches her dagger on its return. The man was surprised at the sound of the clash and he looks to her, a bit speechless at first.

"Sir! Oh thank Brand!" Some guard runs over with a bow, looking terribly apologetic, "I'm sorry sir, I guess me nerves must've gotten the best of me… I-I thought you a bandit rounding the bend and-"

"It's fine. I was… lucky," The man diverts his attention from the dancer briefly. He seems to be someone of importance here, she surmises.

"Come, we ought to bring in the wounded." And they resume their run for the tavern.

The tavern seems like a bit of a madhouse. Alfyn is working furiously alongside another man as they bandage wounds of the injured being bought in. Noelle and the barkeep seem to be helping out with supplies. There is blood on the floors and tables. Civilians seem to have found refuge by crowding near the door. Heads turn seeing the two enter.

"Berg, sir! You're alright!"

The man, apparently named Berg, nods solemnly and lays down the two injured on an available table, "Stanton just sustained a blow to the head, but Felix has a rather nasty gash from those bandit rats."

"Prim!" Alfyn looks to see the dancer, "Your shoulder-"

"It's fine," Prim hastily dismisses him, "There's a little girl named Meri. Her father-"

"Roger?!" Noelle pops in suddenly, "Did something happen to him and Meri?"

"I couldn't move him, Alfyn… there was too much blood…" Primrose bites her lip.

Alfyn seems to understand immediately. He looks to the other man bandaging injuries, "Trevor, I gotta go find those who couldn't make it here. Can ya hold the fort a bit?"

The one called Trevor nods slightly, not taking his attention off his patient.

"Prim, lead the way."

Alfyn follows the dancer out and they rush a bit to retrace her steps. In her head, she saw it in flashes again as doubt weaseled its way into her thoughts. Her father. Blood. Carpet. Dying. Dead. Orphan. No, it can't happen again. Not if she could help it.

"It'll be alright, Prim…" Alfyn says with an assuring smile, "I won't let my patients die…!"

"… Thank you, Alfyn…"

There are some cries through the night. Prim tunes them out, but Alfyn beside her almost faltered in step with each one. Eventually, they find where the thief stands. His dagger and sword are drawn and on the floor at his feet is two more bandits, both incapacitated. The thief seems fine for the most part, with some blood just splattered here and there on his face and poncho.

"Therion, yer okay!" Alfyn almost hugs the thief, who dances out of his reach with a tsk.

"Where's Meri…" Primrose looks for the girl and her father.

Therion points to the side of the house where some barrels were moved, "They were a pain in open view."

To Primrose's relief, the girl and her father are there behind the barrels. Meri seemed to have quieted a good deal, simply leaning on her father's chest now. Alfyn's eyes widen slightly at the bloodied man. Hurriedly, he kneels down, shoving away some barrels and even prying Meri off to press his ear on the man's chest. The girl yelps in protest but Primrose holds her back, speaking gently.

"That man is an apothecary, Meri… He can help your father…"

"N-noo… f—fadder…"

"… He was cold when I moved him," Therion says tersely.

Primrose bites her lip slightly as Alfyn goes to lie the man down. He seemed and sounded panicked as he examined the grievous wound. There was already a lot of blood on the cobbled street where he had lay. Meri sobs quietly in her arms.

Alfyn shakily glances back to Primrose after a few long moments of assessing the body.

"Prim…"

She could only stare as he said those horrible words next.

"… He's gone."

…

"U… uwaa…"

Primrose's grip on the girl slips and the little one runs to the corpse. There are cries from the fighters around:

"The bastards! They're runnin'!"

"Lookit 'em!"

Therion makes a small sound of annoyance and relief. He looks to the dancer. She seems a bit dazed. She's killed so many people already, but this one death seems to have frazzled her. He looks at Meri crying. There is no doubt his earlier hunch was right.

"P-Prim-"

"Alfyn, gimme a hand," The thief goes to pick up the dead man by one end, "We should move him."

"Uh- y-yeah, let's go back to the tavern…" The apothecary still looks to the dancer, slightly worried, "Prim, are you ok?"

She nods with a lackluster motion. Her bangs hide her eyes.

It was that feeling of helplessness again. Once more, she failed… and she sees him dying again. Through a slight haze, she comprehends what Alfyn and Therion say to her. As the other two move the body, she goes to hold the protesting Meri back.

"Father…!"

Primrose bites her lower lip and pulls Meri close to try and calm her down. Slowly, they make their way to the tavern as the battle around dies down.

"I really hope Sadi's alright…" Alfyn murmurs.

"The old man's tough," Therion sighs.

Upon arriving at the tavern, Alfyn pales a bit at the chaos at the entrance alone. There are wounded leaning on the walls to the side of the door since the establishment cannot accommodate for all of them.

"… Go. I'll take care of the body," The thief looks to him. Meri gives a small wail. Alfyn nods and lets down his end of the body before running into the tavern.

"Tally ho!"

The thief and dancer turn at the sound of the familiar voice. Sure enough, Sadiq trots up to them, clothes and polearm bloody. Any wounds he has do not seem to be bothering him as he has a big silly grin on. Behind him, two guards follow.

"Sadiq…" Primrose lets out a small sigh of relief.

"I had a nice bath! It was a bit cold…" The old man scratches his beard.

The two guards behind him speak up, "Uh, are you his companions?"

"… What did he do…" Therion sighs wearily, expecting no less than a goofy felony committed.

"He was a complete beast!" One of the two guards says a bit breathlessly, "I haven't seen a man fight like that … since I met Sir Berg! I daresay he nearly singlehandedly helped us fend off the bandits higher up the mountain!"

"Aye, and he was swift to come at the first bell's toll… I owe him my life," The other guard nods, "Be you his companions? Twas good luck you were here, I must say…"

"Not for us," Therion coughs.

"Well, erm, we shall attend to our duties…"

"Wait," Primrose calls to the guards and turns Meri towards them, "This little one… her father…"

"Waah…" The girl sobs, wiping at her eyes in futility, "F… Father…."

"By the gods, Meri?" One guard kneels before the crying child and tries to soothe her. The other one looks to Primrose gravely, "So… Roger…"

He needn't finish. Primrose's slight shake of the head tells him all he needs to know.

"… We will take her to her aunt, Cecily. She lives a bit closer to the pastures, away from the fringes."

Primrose nods. She watches as the guards take Meri away. The one soothing her picks her up and gently pats her back as they go. Sadiq helps Therion take the body to a nearby pile started for sorting the cadavers which will be carted to be buried in the local graveyard once day comes. The thief glances at the dancer who just stands there. He points to her wound.

"… You should get that treated."

She does not answer for a bit. Then she absentmindedly nods and turns to go into the chaotic tavern temporarily turned into a medical tent. The thief sighs before going in after her, slightly dragging Sadiq along behind him.

By the time Cobbleston had settled down, everyone was exhausted hours later. Alfyn and Trevor had only just finished treating all the wounded, who were to be moved to the guard's barracks, which were already overflowing. The civilians came together to help house others for the night.

"I gotta help clean up a bit ok, guys?" Alfyn looks to the rest of the party, "I'll see you guys back at the inn?"

Therion nods. Primrose lightly touches her bandaged shoulder and nods. Sadiq stares off into space, his wounds treated as well.

"If it itches, lemme know, ok Prim?"

"I will… thank you, Alfyn…" She says, voice a bit hollow.

The dancer, thief and the old man take their leave. The night outside has quieted somewhat. Townspeople quietly weep over their dead outside and try to recoup the broken parts of Cobbleston. Primrose looks away as she starts back up for the inn. The thief is silent as he follows. What could he even say? When they reach the inn, the innkeeper averts his eyes and avoids even looking at them as they pass to their room.

Primrose, with her shoulder treated, sits against the wall on the bed in the inn. The thief and old man enter after. Therion glances at the dancer's silent form a bit uncomfortably before sighing and shutting the door behind him, locking it. He goes to sit in the corner of the room wordlessly. Sadiq stands and stares around for a bit, like a child lost in awe. Then he curls up at the foot of the bed and goes to sleep shortly.

The thief keeps a slight eye on the dancer, ears alert. He hears not even so much as a sniffle from her. Instead, the air just feels heavy. Without so much as a grunt, he turns away from her, facing the corner, and closes his eyes, waiting for morning.

…

Meanwhile, Alfyn cleans up their ad hoc base of operations with Trevor; helping Noelle and the tavern keeper wipe up the blood, throw out the broken arrows, and wash the bloody rags. Some leftover guards loiter for a cold one before turning in after a crazy night. The barmaid has lost her garrulous manner, now looking a bit shaken as she cleans alongside Alfyn.

"Aw gee, Alf- er, Alfyn," Noelle sighs, "You were really…"

"Hehe, Alf is fine!" He grins at her, "How're you holdin' up there?"

"I… It's never been this bad… H… I don't think I could stomach this…"

"… We're about done here," He puts a firm hand on her shoulder, "I'll finish. You go hit the hay ok? And I'll see ya in the morn?"

"…I-if you insist… thank you… Alf," Noelle blushes slightly as she sighs and stands to turn in for the night.

Among the guards left, the one named Berg suddenly approaches Alfyn when he hands the last of the buckets back to the bartender. Alfyn had heard some guards call him sir, so he must be important or something.

"Uh, hiya. Can I help ya?" Alfyn looks up to the taller man.

"You have helped us greatly in a time of need, wandering apothecary. I merely wish to extend my thanks for saving many of my men."

"Aw shucks, I jus' couldn't sit by an' watch y'all in a bind!" Alfyn chuckles and wipes his bloody hands on his vest, "So, yer the guard captain around here right, mister…"

"Please, call me Berg," He extends a calloused hand to the apothecary and the two share a firm shake, "And no, I am merely one of the guardsmen. It is by the blessing of Brand you happened to be here in such a time of need."

"Well I ain't no godsend or whatever. I'm jus' me, Alfyn!" Alfyn looks around a bit, "Just the right place at the right time I guess. An' I'm glad t' help! Those bandits seem like bad business!"

"Aye. They have been an accursed plague these last few months. I think it was the winter what depleted their stock… as well as the monsters…" Berg blinks slowly in thought, "We have reason to believe their den to be in one of the many caves nearby. It may be nigh time to strike and drive them away once and for all."

"Hm! That sounds like a plan…!"

"I must ask, wandering apothecary. Would you be willing to stay with us and treat the men? Trevor had great praise for your skill and I would be willing to pay you-"

"Say no more! And save your money!" Alfyn grins, "Ya seem like you guys really can use an apothecary on hand! I can't just leave knowin' that!"

Berg balks a bit, "But… sure you must need some sort of compensation for your time waylaid here…"

Alfyn shakes his head, "I'm aimin' t' be the best goshdarn apothecary t' help all o' Orsterra. I ain't got no business takin' coin when I got enough means t' get by! Y' probably need it more than me."

The soldier looks at the young man up and down. He sees the worn vest and slight fray here and there at the hem of the shirt and collar, as well as those old trousers and scuffed shoes. Berg sighs.

"…If you insist. But at least let us waive your stay here at the inn."

"Well, I mean, I pitched in with my friends to pay, really, so it's f-"

"You are a guest here. Allow me to escort you back."

Alfyn sighs and shrugs in resignation, "Well, alright, hehe... I think I'm about done cleaning here…"

"Go get yourself a good night's sleep," The bartender looks to him and adds, "Until noon maybe!"

Alfyn chuckles as he leaves the tavern with Berg. Alfyn avoids looking at the dead.

"If I may ask, who be your companions?" Berg's question is a welcome distraction to the apothecary as they climb the cobbled stairs and walk the bloody streets.

"Ah, Prim, Sadi an' Therion! We're lookin' t' pass t' Rippletide up north!"

"I see. These are dangerous times. It is certainly wise to travel in groups…"

They arrive to the inn. The innkeeper yawns but straightens immediately at the sight of Berg.

"B- Sir Berg!"

"Elias, are you alright?" Berg looks to the skinnier man.

"Oh, a bit frazzled I say but no more scared than I was this morning!" The innkeeper says with a strained smile. He glances to the apothecary, "Is… there something I can help you with?"

"This man is to be a guest of the town watch," Berg gestures at Alfyn, "He has performed invaluably to us tonight and saved many lives."

"Aw shucks…"

"O-Oh, so then… Would you like me to refund their deposit?"

"Yes, please. And they shall be given stay for as long as needed," Berg nods, "I will pay for the incurred expenses."

Hearing that at least someone was paying him, the innkeeper hands over the party's money with little protest. Alfyn takes it and thinks for a minute how much they had each chipped in.

"That will be all for now, Elias. Thank you," Berg now looks to Alfyn, "Rest well. When the battle comes, I am sure you will be exhausted once more."

"Ehehe, well, good night to you too…!"

Alfyn waves as the other man leaves. Then he heads to go to their room for a well-earned rest.

…

_Father… _

I see him again, lying there in a pool of blood. There's so much… it doesn't absorb all into the carpet at once… Why… Why did this…

_I couldn't protect you… I couldn't do anything…_

It's so similar, seeing Meri's father like that. That familiar helplessness. I was utterly paralyzed. Even as I felt my blade cut into the throats of those useless bandits… I think I might have thought that. I might have known from the body's form, its limpness, the chest not moving…

_Father forgive me…_

You might have hoped that I would move on and perhaps pursue things more befitting your heir. But these … happenings in the world… They serve only to remind me of what I lost. I can never move on from that loss. I … don't wish it on others either... I felt that rage bubbling up again when Alfyn said he was gone... I wanted to explode and hunt those brigands down. It was a bit frightening, how much I did not care if I harmed others to do it...

_That's right… I'll carve my own way to Hell if that is what it will take to avenge you. I couldn't save you… so this will be… my atonement. I-_

The door opens to the room suddenly. It was not particularly loud, but I was barely under in sleep. I see Alfyn there at the door. He enters lightly closes and locks the door behind himself. With a sigh, he goes to sit down by the wall. He looks rather tired.

"Hoo boy…"

"We were about to send out a search party for you," Therion speaks from his corner. I had an inkling that he was not asleep.

"Ehehe, ya should sleep, Therion…" Alfyn yawns, "I am so wiped out… But! I gotta check on Prim and Sadi first-"

"Dammit, Alfyn, do it in the morning," The thief growls. It is a rather cute gesture of his. Like a noise made by a stray cat.

"Uhn… Okay…" Alfyn yawns again and seems to notice something in his hand, "Ah, Therion, they refunded our room p-"

"In. The. Morning. Go to sleep," Therion sighs wearily, not turning to look at Alfyn.

"Well, don't get mad when I… tell ya… 'morrow then… …zzz…" Alfyn drifts off, fatigue getting the best of him.

Therion scoffs and mutters "finally."

I sigh inwardly and try returning to sleep. This time there is no dream. Just a hollowness in the dark. It is strangely appropriate. Far away I hear words spoken, from voices I recognize. But try as I might to reach, I know they are gone forever… just their echoes are left in my heart.

"_Primrose… My rose… Beautiful flower…"_


	12. Chapter 12: Brigands

"I can't believe this…"

Therion's mood was beyond foul. Alfyn had told him about his little agreement on the side with the task force of Cobbleston. They were stuck. All because he can't keep his little goody-two-shoes act to himself! The thief grumbles and scowls to himself at the thought of being mired in this place. They were just asking to fight with the bandits. He sits against the wall, head on his arms, muttering crossly.

Primrose barely spares the sulking thief a glance before checking over her daggers. She had been a bit less careful retrieving them. A few she had lost in Clearbrook since she was unconscious. Her special slinging daggers were down to four. She could buy regular daggers, if only they didn't cost so damn much. Last night was not particularly abound with willing purses either. She sighs. Sadiq sits cross-legged on the floor, examining his spear.

Alfyn returns to the room with a tray of hot gruel.

"Heya, breakfast!" He grins. Therion growls in response.

The apothecary distributes the gruel to each of them with a spoon. Then he takes something out of his pocket and looks to Therion with a sympathetic smile.

"Heeeeey…."

Therion wordlessly turns away.

"Therioon!" Alfyn pleads, "C'mon, I told ya not t' get mad!"

"That was before you told me you got us stuck in bandit county!" Therion snarls, wolfing his hot porridge. He gags a bit when it scalds his throat.

Alfyn sighs, "Well I also got us the deposit back on the room! Here, you can keep my share if it'll help ya feel better a little…"

He offers the handful of coins to the recalcitrant thief. Therion seems to ignore it.

"C'mon Therion," Alfyn slurps a bit of his breakfast straight from the bowl in his other hand, "It's mostly just me! I'll jus' be helpin' patch some people up! You, Prim an' Sadi don't hafta do anything!"

"And what the hells are we supposed to do when you're in the thick of it?" Therion shoots back, "I suppose we'd have to come rescue you?"

"You would?" Alfyn blinks like the idea hadn't ever occurred to him. The thief clamps his own trap shut and turns his face away to shovel in more scalding hot gruel, ignoring the heat. He's glad his skin is a bit darker, so his light flush is masked.

The dancer sighs and quietly eats a spoonful of the grey stuff. Sadiq heartily and messily eats like a child, speckling his beard with bits of gruel. She cleans him with Yusufa's handkerchief.

"So, do you want it or not, Therion?" Alfyn presses.

With an irritated grunt, Therion snatches the coins from him. Alfyn chuckles a little nervously, before going to refund the dancer's share, "And here you go, Prim..."

She takes the coins silently from his hand.

"… When is this thing going to be over so we can leave," The thief says without looking at him, instead counting and stowing the change away.

"I'm about to head out! I'll ask Berg!" Alfyn grins, "You guys can stay or look around ya know? This could be great!"

Therion scoffs when the dirty blonde finally leaves, "Bandit county. Great. Stubborn ass."

"… Both sides lost quite a bit last night," Primrose says with slight disinterest, "I would be surprised if another attack like that happened."

"That's not the point," Therion throws down the empty bowl with a clatter, which is luckily made of wood, "These people here could drag him into some foolish assault. It's just … stupid to get involved in matters like this… We're only wasting time."

Yes. She was aware of this. With every detour, it is possible her chance at revenge slips further and further from her grasp. But like last night… could she ever just stand aside while that sort of thing happened before her?

"… But I see you're not exactly in a hurry."

She looks up at the thief. He looks at her almost accusingly.

"… What are you getting at?" She keeps her voice level at first as she addresses his statement, "I want to leave as wel-"

"You froze up a bit last night. Your daddy issues-"

He almost regretted it the moment he said that. Then he felt the air before his face compress for the fraction of a second. His head ducks just fast enough to the side as a lash of darkness slams the wall on the side of his head, cutting his cheek and some hairs. He sees the dark energy retreat quickly, vanishing back towards the dancer. She hadn't needed to lift a finger.

"… I'm sorry. You were saying?" She gives a small smile of innocence. He scowls and looks away. The lash had left a deep gouge in the wood. Luckily, no one else in the building seems to have taken notice of that.

"But if he does get in trouble…" She continues, "You'll go to his rescue, won't you?"

"Like hells…" Therion mutters, tossing the spoon into the empty bowl, "He'll probably get himself killed in some dark alley where no one will know. He fits right in with a dealer."

"How cold. But also, what a liar," She smiles. He decides she's just getting under his skin for fun.

"If that idiot gets in trouble, you could probably work your weird magic," He snorts slightly, "Wondering why you haven't, actually."

"He should be able to do what he wants. It's what he came out to accomplish anyways. And we are not his parents," She fingers a lock of hair, "Though you are certainly protective of him enough."

The thief decides against digging himself any deeper in and shuts up. Primrose smiles wily as she begins to apply her makeup.

…

Alfyn looks over the warrior named Berg who everyone seemed to have the utmost respect for here in Cobbleston. Injured warriors hobbled by, some on crutches, as the town recuperated from the ordeal last night.

The man was rather tall. Alfyn was one of the tallest people in Clearbrook. Berg passes him by several inches. He seems very stern and has a scarred face to boot. He could have been a soldier probably. Definitely older than himself. The clothes on him were very simple. He had leather armor over a white tunic and simple pants and shoes. Alfyn was most fascinated by that grey streaked hair. Meryl had joked with him a few times behind Ulinor's back that it was the worries which made her forehead crinkly and hair grey.

_I'll bet Berg's got a lotta worries on his plate with these bandits an' whatnot._

The apothecary approaches the warrior with a wave and a friendly smile.

"G'morning Berg!"

"Ah, hail, Alfyn," The man raises a slight hand in salutations, "I hope you were able to rest at least a little after last night."

"Yeah, I slept like a log!" Alfyn sighs lightly, "Nothin' like hard work to put a person to sleep!"

"Indeed. There are some men who experienced discomfort from their wounds yesterday already. Are you-"

"Say no more!" Alfyn nods and gives a slight snort of determination from his nostrils, "A good apothecary has to check patients everyday! I'll go see 'em all!"

Berg nods, "Trevor has gone off to see some of them already. I will escort you to the others."

"Wow, Trevor woke up early! I figured he'd be as tired as I was after last night!" Alfyn pipes up as they walk around the mountain town, "I gotta up my play!"

Berg chuckles, "Trevor used to be an army medic. He is used to much of this sort of environment. We could not have asked for a better healer in town."

"Army material huh? That explains how he worked so quick an' all! Everyone here on the guard's force actually seems really well trained, come to think of it…"

"Aye, you have a sharp eye, lad. Cobbleston has many a man who used to work in … other businesses. Quite a few of the men I trained already had experience as mercenaries or guards. The captain of the watch himself was one such a man. He has the war injury to prove it."

"Ah, so that was him?" Alfyn perks up slightly, "I helped a guy with a bad knee yesterday… He seemed important. Wore old armor and everything."

"You work fast," Berg says as they approach a house, "Would you ever think of settling down here in Cobbleston with the other old souls?"

"Haha, I think I'll return to Clearbrook if I'm old! But I wouldn't mind visitin'!"

Berg nods with a small amused smile and knocks on the door. A young woman opens it and glances at Berg and Alfyn.

"O-oh, sir Berg!"

"Hail, Lila," Berg gestures at Alfyn, "He's come to see Colton's injuries."

"Oh, why yes, of course…" She steps aside so they may enter.

_Colton? Wait, isn't that…_

Alfyn doesn't finish his thought as he enters with Berg. The interior of the house is sparse and rather bare. There is a single bed, a chimney and a hearth, a table with three chairs, and a small cabinet by the window at the front of the house. Lain on the floor is some layered deerskin as a makeshift sleeping mat. On the bed is Colton. Alfyn stiffens slightly when he recognizes the body on the bed but tries a bit not to show it. The guard seems to be asleep, with his tunic unbuttoned to show his bandaged chest. On the side of his abdomen seems to have red seeping through.

"He fell dead asleep after the ordeal. But he was very warm this morning…" Lila says with growing worry in her voice.

"Hm. A fever perhaps…"

"I'll check," Alfyn puts his satchel down on the table and walks up to the bedside. He places a tentative hand on the man's forehead for a few seconds. It is rather warm.

"…Well?"

"Well, better safe than sorry… It could be the beginning of one," Alfyn goes to rummage through his pack, taking out this and that, "Ya got any water? Oh and a towel. A rag'll do too. Keep it wet and lay it on his forehead. I'll redress the wound an' see if there's some infection."

Lila nods and goes to fetch what he asked for. Berg stands by, watching the apothecary work. Alfyn was used to spectators. He focused only on the patient. It wasn't that bad of a wound, luckily. The fever is a natural thing to happen. It was a sign the body was fighting infection.

He undoes the wrappings to change them. Lila brings him the water and some clean rags. After wetting the rag, he wrings it and puts it on Colton's forehead. Then he washes the wound. It's a bloody furrow from a blade, likely dug in as the ruffian passed. As he cleans it, Colton stirs.

"Mmh…"

"Colton?" Lila perks up and looks over him worriedly, "Love, are you lucid?"

_Ah, so they're sweethearts_, realizes the apothecary.

"Lila… oh," Colton's eyelids open slight and he glances to her before his eyes lay on Alfyn, "You're…"

"Ehaha… almost done here! You'll be fine…" Alfyn says, not a hint of nervousness in his voice as he continues redressing the wound.

"The wound is alright?" Lila looks to the man in the green vest.

"Ah, yeah. Saw a lot worse last night. Should be able to walk by tomorrow or so… but no more fighting, or it'll open up, ya hear?"

"Tsk… But we … can't just let them waltz off after mounting an assault like that-!"

"We will need men to counterattack. And a wounded man on the field is worth two dead, Colton," Berg says gravely. He walks over to the bedside, "I want you to worry only about recuperation. I will tell Hans of your progress in recovery."

"Urgh… Sir Berg… But-"

"I won't hear another stubborn word out of your mouth," Berg says sternly, "You have worried Lila enough."

That's enough to shut the young man up. Alfyn quickly applies the fresh bandages. "Done!"

Berg nods and goes for the door, "Excuse us then, Lila. Next we shall go see Ernst."

"Ah, the goatherd?" Alfyn looks up as he packs away his things, "Oop, I'll need t' get more bandages on the way!"

"Thank you so much for your help…" Lila turns to Alfyn, "Um, it's not much but-"

"No, no payment!" Alfyn hurries after Berg with a slight wave, "Jus' happy t' help!"

Berg chuckles slightly as Alfyn comes out after him from the house, "You truly don't intend to get paid for any of your work."

"Hey, like I said. 'M plenty happy as it is bein' able t' help out," Alfyn folds his arms behind his head as they walk, "Yeesh, I never did get why everyone wants t' throw money at me jus' fer that!"

"They don't know how else to show their gratitude for what you do. It is quite a wonder, the healing arts," Berg nods slightly, "Wielding the sword is one thing. But to heal one wounded from it is a valuable skill that brings relief and hope. It is something one trained for war knows not."

"Ya talkin' about yerself, Berg?" Alfyn looks to the older man with innocent curiosity, "Ya said a lotta old warhorses're here in Cobbleston…"

Berg lets out a hearty laugh, "Warhorse… yes, I think that name suits it… I am a mercenary. I was originally hired as a combat instructor to teach the young men of Cobbleston so they might fend better against the bandit and monster threats in the area. For eight years now, however, I have lived here. So I no longer train these youngsters for money."

"For yer home right?"

"… I suppose, yes."

At the mention of "home," Berg's eyes seemed troubled for just a moment. Alfyn noticed this, since the older man was more emotive than the thief, and less adept at hiding it than Primrose.

"Uhh, Berg?"

"… Ah, here we are. Ernst's farm."

…

The inn room was a bit too stuffy for the dancer to languish in. The same went for the thief. They both wordlessly leave the inn, Sadiq following Primrose. It was nearing noon. It was certainly warming from their first windy day in the mountains.

As the dancer walked, people stared. It was natural at this point. The essence of the dark arts oozed from her body, though her form alone was reason enough. But after last night, it was not in the minds of all men to lay with her. They merely stared. Perhaps it's some of that discipline that the people of Sunshade lacked.

"E-excuse me!"

Primrose turns to the voice of the female. She faces the freckled face of a somewhat nervous-looking Noelle.

"Ah, you're… Noelle, right?"

"O-Oh! You remembered…" The barmaid flusters a bit, "Gosh, I'm kinda flattered… Usually, I'm hard-pressed to be at a loss for words, you see…"

"Of course," Primrose offers a small smile as an empty gesture, "Did you need something?"

"Erm, I just wanted to say I thought your dancing last night at the tavern… It was splendid! Unlike anything I'd ever seen here in the Highlands!"

"Oh, thank you," The dancer continues smiling.

"Um, the tavern keeper said I didn't have to work today… but I think he wouldn't mind you going to dance again…? I mean, not all nights are like yesterday, I swear. Erm… Say, that dance style is definitely from the Sunlands right? But which region? There's actually a complicated history about dancing in Sunland culture and it differs based on location, see-"

That prattling again. She had better things to do than have her day consumed by meaningless chatter.

"-and then king Marsalim decreed that the dancers of his court should be able to work without their veils and-"

"Ah, sorry dear," Primrose finally interrupts, "I have somewhere to be."

"O-Oh, that's fine! Sorry if I babb-"

Her apology is cut short by a sudden shriek and monkey noises from Sadiq.

"OOOHHHHH! AAAGAAHH!"

Everyone, even Primrose, turns head to stare at the bearded coot wildly gesticulating. He seems to be pointing at something. Primrose glances in that direction. Her eyes fall near the northern gate of Cobbleston.

She understood at once.

"Everyone get down!"

There is a sickening crunch. From higher up the mountain, a medium-sized boulder fell. There is crimson staining the underside of the rock where it hit and squashed the woman. Her arm sticks out still from under it. There is a wild twitch of the extremities before it is still. Then panic erupts.

"Rockslide!"

The dancer scans the ridge of the mountains once more as everyone else runs, including the chatty barmaid. No, it wasn't a natural stone that just fell. There was something moving along the ridge…

"Bad, bad monkeys…" Sadiq mutters under his breath as he takes a fighting stance, "Don't waste nuts…!"

"They're clever alright…" Primrose goes up to the nearest guard amid the chaos, "Hey, it's not a real rockslide. The bandits are pushing down the boulders…!"

"Even so, ma'am, we must get the villagers to safety."

The dancer lets him do his job. The rocks suddenly stopped falling, but people were not done running. Then, like the storm after the calm, there was screaming once more, and the accursed toll of the bell.

"Bandits!" Another guard comes running, "They're coming from the south gate!"

"What?! All the townspeople are taking shelter there!"

Primrose saw their game now. Scare the people to take refuge at a lower area, then attack with them all grouped. The attack last night might very well have been a rather rowdy reconnaissance on Cobbleston's layout, which allowed them to formulate this. Those bandits infest this mountain like a termite's nest.

"Helloooo Cobbleston!"

Armed figures with ugly grins of malice stand by the north entrance. The guards balk a bit as they take position.

"Spare some food fer yer poor mountain men?" The bandit with a gruff red beard grins, showing missing teeth, "We'll leave ya some scraps, bandit's honor."

"Charge!"

"Don't let a single one of those greasy bastards through!"

Primrose stands back a bit from the fray. Without a warning, Sadiq runs in, ululating a war cry. Despite the manpower, some of the bandits slip through, running about the venues and streets. Down towards the lower part of town are now those same cries. It was a well-planned pincer, with the most vulnerable trapped down there.

Primrose almost was too distracted to notice one jump for her. She would have killed him fine though, if not for a great sword striking him down first. It's that man from last night, with the scarred face and grey-streaked hair. He glances her over after felling the ruffian before going to join the other guards. She stares a bit. The way he looked at her was most peculiar.

"Prim!"

She turns to see Alfyn run up, nearly breathless.

"Alfyn, thank goodness you're alright."

"Ehe, I could say the same fer you! Lucky thing Berg got the guy, eh?"

Ah, right, he was Berg.

"W-where's Sadi? And Therion?" The thought dawns on Alfyn.

"Sadiq is fighting. I don't know where Therion is."

"Ehh? We gotta go find 'im! The place is swarming with bandits!"

"He has more lives than a cait, I'll bet," She smirks at the thought.

"Prim!" The exasperated apothecary yelps.

…

Therion went about his business immediately after leaving that annoying dancer. Alfyn isn't here to watch him so he does what he does best as a thief. There are some nice purses for the picking here. Living up in such an elevation is a bit like isolation. The people didn't have much to spend money on and live rather austere lives. So, they were lain out rather easily as prey.

There were only those guards around town he had to keep an eye out for. Those damn bandits. They always make trouble for good thieves, riling up the local security and making people warier targets.

He tosses a coin pouch, the most recent prize from some old man he passed. It was filled with leaves. He counted about 200 or more, easily. With a smirk, he stashes it away under his cloak.

_Should've hid your money better than stowing it all in one place._

He actually goes and buys a Highland apple instead of stealing it for lunch. It was much crunchier and a bit sour than those from lower altitudes. He ate sitting by a crook between some stairs and one of the houses to remain inconspicuous. He also had to make sure he didn't bump into Alfyn.

From the house nearby, he hears a yelp, as do several others passing by. Then he hears the apothecary's reassuring voice. He's working this close by?

The thief pops the rest of the core into his mouth. But he's careful not to swallow any of the seeds. Then he makes his way over to the house and peers in through an ajar window.

Sure enough, the apothecary is in there, fixing another person up. He doesn't seem tired at all despite having worked all morning. Therion watches as he sets the person's broken leg and then wrap it, all the while yammering away about fishing. Despite the uninspiring conversation, it took him an uncharacteristically long time to notice the other person in the room with Alfyn. A stern looking man with a large sword and leather armor… likely this "Berg" figure he's heard about.

After Alfyn finishes up, the thief quietly steals away and makes his way through some alleys, threading between houses and the back roads so he wouldn't see him. It was honestly weird, how he's trying to avoid Alfyn as he does this. Was he ashamed for some reason? Because of the difference in their professions?

That princess certainly didn't have this much to worry about. She flaunted her ill-reputed career and could do it in plain sight. Thievery was something… more subtle and … dare he say it, underhanded.

He wasn't a noble thief after all. Those stories about the ones who stole from the rich to give to the poor never appealed to him. He shut them out and looked elsewhere from those kinds of self-righteous people. Seeing Alfyn work reminded him of those stories … only, he couldn't easily take his eyes away.

_Yer a sentimental fool, Therion. Ya think too much._

He sits down on a stoop away from the main paths. Traveling with these three was really making him sloppy. Since when and why should he worry about this?

Time lost meaning for a bit as Therion sat there to clear his head. He wasn't sure about the position of the sun from when he started to when he stopped. It wouldn't do to go back out there and slip up because of his thoughts. And boy, was his head crowded these days…

Then he heard the screaming, the thuds, and the bell.

_Oh great…_

He stands and dusts off his pants. There is a stampede of people in the main street, running in panic away from the upper mountain part of town.

_I'll bet my top leaves it's bandits._ Too bad there was no one to bet with.

He pokes his head out of his hiding place. No bandits in sight just yet. It might not be too late to hightail it back to the inn and sit this one out. He starts to make his way there, avoiding the venues where panic was driving the crowds.

It was near the top that he realized the eyes on him. Skirting a corner, he makes a turn and ends up seemingly in a secluded area where the townsfolk do their laundry. Strings of drying clothes hang in strings overhead, crisscrossing from the surrounding buildings, with a covered stone well in the middle.

Great.

Therion hears the feet behind him. He growls, hand twitching near his dagger. Slowly, he turns his head a little.

"Alright, you sneaky fuc-"

The first thing he saw was a blur. Then he felt his face collapse in on itself from the force of the impact. He hadn't heard the steps as the pursuer got close. Close enough to punch his lights out.

His body sails through the air for a second and lands with a thud at the foot of the well. For a few seconds, all he saw was bright spots flickering in his vision. His body was already reacting, going to try and stand after that jarring blow.

"…" The thief wipes at the crimson dripping down his nose. He quietly thanks Aeber that it doesn't feel broken. But his entire face still stings.

"So, this was the one that gave you boys a run fer your leaves?"

As the thief's vision returns, he sees the one who hit him. It's a big, burly and unshaven man with a horned helm. Draped above his wide shoulders is a pelt cloak. The rest of his clothes are simple, with leather body armor and blue pants. Sheathed at his side is a worn sword, which looks too nice for him. Flanking him are two brigands. One of them speaks up.

"Y-yeah, they's the one that killed Murray last night! I saw 'im!"

Therion pulls out his dagger now, his growling much more pronounced. The man, who seems to be a leader of the ruffians, merely gives a mocking grin.

"You ain't from around here, are ya?"

"Who wants to know?" Therion snarls.

"Well, from one outlaw to another…"

He points at Therion. Therion glances slightly at what he was pointing at exactly. His bangle. After all the trekking to Cobbleston, the wrappings were loose. Alfyn had fixed it. The recent fighting and punch had unraveled it. With the situation in this town, it had slipped his mind to redo the wrapping.

"… Don't talk to me like we're all buddy-buddy," Therion mutters, redirecting his glare.

"Hey, this is good for you. After all, wouldn't you be interested in keeping your life today?" The man grins and folds his arms, "Unless you prefer being hacked up by me, Gaston!"

It was true he was at a disadvantage. But you can't ever show that.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm saying you're lucky. You look to be on good terms with the people here," Gaston chortles when the sounds of surrounding chaos momentarily spike, "I'm thinking we can do a nice little exchange?"

Therion eyes him warily. This guy wasn't an ordinary brigand, for sure. He wasn't voraciously after the same crap like the others. At least, not in the same direct way. The thief does not say anything, instead just keeping his eyes trained on the three before him.

"Our den. We might have some way to break that Fool's Bangle off of your arm."

Now that gets his attention. But one never trusts the words of another, especially not a bandit.

"Oh yeah?" Therion quirks an eyebrow, feigning interest.

"Yeah, maybe. We got meanwhile a rather big pest here. The name of Berg."

Berg. Alfyn mentioned that guy. He sounds important to these bandits. Therion keeps quiet again.

"See, he's been givin' us a bit of a hard time here. And we'd like to… invite him to our den to civilly discuss, see?"

Ah, so that's their angle.

"Uh huh," Therion says, unamused. To refuse outright would be annoying because he'd probably have to fight. It's best to accept and never fulfill it. After all, these were bandits. Luring you into their hideout with goodies is one of the oldest tricks in the book.

"You're interested aintcha?" Gaston shows his yellowish teeth in a fierce grin, "We outlaws gotta stand together against the current of the law y' know? 'Else we' get swept away."

His ruffian underlings seemed confused the whole time, sharing bemused glances at each other. Their boss clearly hadn't spoken to them about making deals with some thief marked with a bangle.

"You're honestly putting trust in another outlaw?" Therion scoffs lightly, "Why not just kidnap a hostage? That'll get him running to you."

"'Ey that don't sound half bad, Gaston!" One of the ruffians behind Gaston pipes up, "I'll git right to it!"

The ruffian runs off, leaving his partner awkwardly standing there. Gaston rolls his eyes at his other lackey. The other ruffian runs off too, leaving Gaston alone with the thief.

_Yet… I can't trust him to be an easy one, even alone._ He had gotten a solid punch on the thief after all.

Gaston sighs, "Well, if you're still up to join us… We can help you, y' know mate?"

Gods, that tone of … was it pity? Camaraderie?

"… I'll see if I feel like it," Therion mutters.

"The party'll be just up the mountaintop north of here. I'll be expecting you," Gaston waves a beefy arm slightly as he turns to go.

For a second, Therion was thinking about blindsiding him with his back turned. Then he saw the thing on his arm and stopped. It was at the base of the forearm, near the elbow. The flesh was raised and discolored from the surrounding skin. But he knew from the pattern it was no ordinary scar. It was a brand seared onto his skin.

The Gladiator's Brand.

Among the archaic ways of marking criminals, the Gladiator's Brand is better known than the Fool's Bangle. Those who are unfortunate enough to be caught multiple times for misdemeanors were usually branded around their third time being arrested. Most of the time, it meant the virtual end of your life as a member of society. The meaning behind it was similar to the bangle. Those who were unable to avoid capture for their crimes were forever marked for their stupidity. They called it the gladiator's since it was usually found on slave fighters. But Therion had seen some failed thieves share that same unfortunate fate. The mark looks like a seared rectangle in the skin, with a ropy scar across the middle.

…_So, that was his reason for putting that ridiculous trust in me? _Therion scoffs. _Stupid. Who the hell ever trusts a thief so easily._

…

Cobbleston once again has devolved into a pandemonium.

Berg swore internally as he swung his sword at the ruffians. _Damn, damn, damn it all…!_ They were already wary of him, instead moving towards easier targets. He kept up with them, blocking for his allies. These blows were nothing. They could never staunch the rage bubbling over inside. How long… for how long will these brigands plague this fair village?

They were here before he was. He had merely been wandering about, under the name Berg. This village is not too far from where the territory of Hornburg used to stand. He could not step foot back into the former cities of the fallen empire. The feeling of disgrace was too strong. But he could not bring himself to leave the Highlands, where he'd spent a majority of his life. So, he came to Cobbleston, a hamlet few heard of, for a semblance of some fresh start. In town, he had helped stop some acts of banditry by pure chance. Upon seeing him handle the invaders, the town mayor insisted in hiring him for defense purposes in the town. When he made it clear that he was not seeking to be an eternal guard, the mayor convinced him to at least train some budding youth to fend off threats.

The town has been kind and his stay has been favorable. That is indisputable. He now has a property here, lent on account of the mayor. His living expenses here were almost completely covered, and he made extra allowance for food by doing odd jobs here and there, like woodcutting and the occasional monster hunt.

Cobbleston also had fine people, some of the nicest in the realm perhaps. Many of the youths have come to look up to him as the watch came to be formed, and even the captain looked to him for advice time and again. The mayor trusts him completely. Young men like Philip have come to also…

Yet, these roaches in human skin seem to only have redoubled their efforts since he came.

"HO!"

A bandit leaps at him. Amid his thoughts, he would have been a second too slow to block. But a polearm runs the attacker through from the side. Holding the weapon is the old man with the loose garments of the Sunlands.

"…! You have my thanks!"

"Watch your head, Finny!" The old man barks.

Berg blinks, slightly confused. The old man must have mistaken him for someone else.

Regardless, they were embroiled in battle. He had little time to dwell on it as he swings and parries another blow. Yet, he found his eyes occasionally go back to the old man, who moved with ferocity he could never have imagined for one his age. And that spear of his was definitely battle-grade.

He wasn't the only oddity here. Near Alfyn is the dancer from last night, the one in red, who slings daggers in a most curious manner. Her movements were alluring. But something about her simply felt… off. Maybe it was last night. He hadn't fully seen what she did, but she seemed to have stopped a stray arrow with her dagger? Yet he had felt something else. A slight malevolent force. It had moved too fast for his eyes.

"Argh!" One of the watch falls, his cries alerting Berg, pulling him violently from his thoughts.

Berg sees red once more and barrels at the offending bandit preparing a final blow. Red, but not quite as in rage. It was the same red that poured out of the men that day behind the lines in Hornburg. It was the same red that leaked from King Alfred's decapitated trunk. It was the same red dripping off that damn sword, in _that man's_ damn hands…

It was the red blood of those he failed to protect.

"RAAAAH!"

He gives a roaring battle cry. It reverberates over the area, from this upper part of Cobbleston and all over. Everyone seems to visibly flinch at his roar, or at least turn their head.

"You will NEVER have your way with the fair folk of Cobbleston!"

He brandishes his blade. The bandits seem visibly disheartened seeing his stance radiating power. A few brave ones try to rally yet.

"C-c'mon y' yellow-bellies! 'E's jus' one-"

Berg closes the distance with the bandit in a single stride. He feels his blade swing upward and catch the body. The next moment, in a spray of blood, the bandit is sent flying through the air, landing several meters behind his comrades. He no longer speaks or moves.

"Come at me!" Berg snarls at the remainder.

For a moment, the bandits seemed at a loss. Then there is suddenly a loud laugh, louder than some other shrill scream from the lower part of the mountain, and then at the north.

"Let's pull back for now, boys! We got what we wanted."

Berg and the other townspeople look up and see a stocky figure at the north entrance. He has a horned helm and fur pelt cloak, and is surrounded by a few bandits … and Cobbleston townspeople. There are about three, captive it seems in the hands of the bandits. Berg recognizes Noelle the barmaid, Ernst, and his sister, Amelia. They seem to struggle in in vain against their captors.

"LET THEM GO, YOU-"

The bandit leader with the horns laughs heartily, "Come take them from us if you dare! I'll be waiting in our lair at the mountain summit! Let's settle this, eh?!"

With a flap of his cape, he makes his dramatic exit. The bandits begin to flock out of the village after him. Berg moves at first to go after them, then restrains himself. Several of the watch look to him.

"Sir Berg, what …shall we do?"

"… We need to see to the damages to the town first. And then we shall… pursue them," Berg grits his teeth together.

"B-but the hostages?"

"… They will keep them alive if they wish to taunt us. Now go. We must be quick…"

Alfyn goes immediately to the fallen, already working with his apothecary tools to patch them up. The watch briskly moves to carry out his order. He prayed to Brand his judgement was correct.

…

The thief finally rejoined with the party at the tavern amid the aftermath. The tavern is near the square, where a gathering of the local guard seems to be happening. He espies the man with the great sword and grey streaked hair that was with Alfyn in that wounded soldier's house. That could be Berg.

"Therion!" Alfyn embraces the thief and then immediately looks him over, "Are ya alright? Gadzooks, I was worried…"

Therion had washed his bloodied face in the well. But Alfyn easily spotted the early signs of some bruising. Immediately, he cools down the nasal bridge with his touch.

"Shucks… anywhere else hurt on ya?"

Therion shakes his head.

"Where were you amid the chaos?" The dancer pipes up from behind Alfyn. She and Sadiq are sitting on some nearby stools. The tables in the tavern were once again converted to examination tables, but the damage seems better controlled than last night.

"Sir Alfyn?" A young, brown haired boy walks up to interrupt them, a wooden sword at his side, "Sir Berg has requested your presence at the meeting of the watch!"

"Huh? Oh, oh, ok! I'll see you guys later, alright?" Alfyn says as he goes out the door.

"… I wonder what it could be about…" Primrose muses. Therion stays quiet to try and still that sinking feeling in his stomach. He is secretly glad the child stopped Primrose's query.

"Hey, you… kid," Therion says, slightly hoarse.

"Huh? My name's Philip!" The kid chirps.

"Whatever. What's going on? You look like you know a thing or two."

"Tis just awful. Big sis Noelle and two others were carted off by them horrible bandits! They're discussin' right now to storm those baddies in their lair up the mountain!"

"… Don't tell me… they mean to take Alfyn with them?" Primrose swears slightly under her breath. Therion shares the same sentiment. But he stays silent, instead bolting for the door.

Outside, in the square, there is some low murmuring surrounding some louder voices as a small crowd of civilians looks to the guard. Berg seems to be speaking with some counsel.

"…they want me, mostly likely."

"But sir! Going alone like that…! Even you-"

"He won't be alone!" Therion has to resist slapping his forehead, hearing Alfyn chime in, "I'll go with 'im!"

Good gods.

"He'll be in good hands, rest assured!" Aaaand he's still talking.

"Oh, he's that new healer in town…"

Therion edges closer. Past the small crowd gathered, the Berg guy and Alfyn are standing with some members of the watch facing them. A bearded man dressed in worn, yet stately clothes has an aura of authority despite the panicked feel overall. He seems like the village headman. Clearing his throat, he looks to Berg.

"You speak true and prudently, Berg, that you may be the target they want. But are you truly prepared for this? Those are animals which await you in their own den."

"… Aye, headman. I cannot back down. The leader of those brigands will rue having taunted me by endangering others," Berg nods slightly, a grim look on his face.

"Alright. You are our only hope then… all other members of the watch are to stand guard around Cobbleston. Once the threat of another invasion is stayed, we will send reinforcements for you posthaste, Berg," The headman sighs, "Will you be setting out immediately?"

Berg nods and glances at Alfyn. Alfyn blinks before he realizes his response is being awaited.

"O-Oh! Yeah, I could go now! I think I got enough herbs."

"Please restock as you see fit. Do not go ill-prepared. I will send an aide telling them of the urgency so it will not come at a cost to you," The headman nods slightly, "Be careful."

Therion briskly walks away, practically storming back into the tavern. The dancer looks up at his entry. He barely notices the Philip kid trailing him.

"… He's going, isn't he…" Primrose sighs, reading his mood instantly. He barely nods.

"Was that your friend up there with Sir Berg?" Philip looks to the two of them, "Sir Berg is the finest warrior in the Highlands, mayhap the world! So you needn't be worried!"

Therion almost wanted to kick the kid. Punt him down the mountainside.

"Is that so…" Primrose mutters slightly, "The finest warrior, hm?"

"Yes! I only wish he'd train me more… How I'd love to help out in the watch! Me dad used to be a soldier too, y' know?"

Is everyone in this gods damned town talkative to no end? When the thief didn't want to hear anything, suddenly their lips were loose with their whole life story.

Therion plunks down on a stool, clearly in a foul mood. Alfyn enters shortly, smiling like usual.

"Hey guys!" He approaches, "Why so glum?"

"Sir Alfyn!" Philip quips up at him, "You're heading out soon with Sir Berg, right?"

"Ehehe, just Alfyn's fine, Philip!" Alfyn chuckles, dropping to the kid's eye level on one knee.

"I- I never spoke to you! How do you know my…" The boy flusters.

"Hehe, Berg told me about ya! 'Said yer a real nice kid!"

Philip both glows and blushes a bit. He grins, a bit goofy, before quickly excusing himself and running out of the establishment. Alfyn smiles watching the kid go, before turning back to the dancer and thief seated nearby. Sadiq seems to be sitting rather silently, eyes occasionally rolling about.

"What's up?" Alfyn tilts his head slightly at them, "The air 'round you two's thicker than curdled milk!"

"Alfyn…" Primrose says after a pause, "You're running headfirst into danger again…"

"Aha…" Alfyn rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "I can't jus' look away, Prim… I can help so…"

"Just because you can doesn't mean you _should_," Therion nearly spat that out, "At least in Clearbrook they knew you. These are complete strangers."

Alfyn frowns, "C'mon you guys… I mean, weren't we near strangers when we helped each other?"

"… What Therion means is," Primrose suavely swoops in, "These aren't just animals, Alfyn. Men are several times more dangerous than beasts. And these are those who have little qualms about butchering women and children. We're worried for you."

"Well, shucks. Yer right about all that. I can't say I'm the strongest guy t' go with Berg… But I can handle my own!" Alfyn smiles, "And I'm grateful y'all're worried for me, really."

Therion looks away, somewhat crossly. Primrose only sighs. She knew it was hopeless to try and talk him out of it. He was Alfyn after all.

"Perhaps … we should come with you…" The dancer lightly rubs her forehead with a pensive hand. It was clear she was reluctant to get involved with anything about this. But she wouldn't let him charge in with some macho man alone.

"Eh, you guys don't hafta force yerselves! I'll be fine, really!" Alfyn flusters a bit, "I said ya guys can lay back… I don't wanna drag ya into anythin'…!"

"…" The dancer and thief surreptitiously share a glance. They both were on the same page, despite the thief's annoyance at the whole affair.

"… Just shut up and tell us when you're leaving. Then we can decide that for ourselves," The thief scowls. He was awful at showing he cared. Probably because he hated that he cared.

Alfyn looks exasperatedly at the two of them. Primrose gives him a helpless smile and shrug, eyes glancing at Therion. The thief doesn't look to either of them. A slight amused smile forms on Alfyn's lips and he doesn't try to keep a straight face.

"Hehe, you guys…" He chuckles sheepishly, "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Therion pretends not to hear him, merely giving a slight huff. Primrose smiles softly.

"Well, the mayor said I oughta stock up for a bit, but we're headin' out quick. Meet us at the north gate in a couple minutes, ok? I'm off t'check out what herbs they got here…!"

The dancer nods and waves a little as the energetic apothecary leaves the tavern. The thief lets out a fuming sigh. Primrose looks to him with a slight smirk.

"You really aren't good with your emotions," She says, quirking an eyebrow slightly, "He was happy. You didn't have to be so defensive… not that it's hard to see that you actually care."

"Whatever," He grunts irritably, "What do I care if he wants to run off and get himself killed…"

"Well, you do care, like it or not. And we've volunteered at this rate, so let's get ready to meet him," Primrose sighs now, "Men are so much harder to deal with when they act like they're creatures separate from their emotions."

Therion rolls his eyes, muttering, "Says the one wearing a mask all the time."

The dancer merely chuckles at his retort. Her mask is impeccable.

…

It was only a short span of time before the apothecary and the warrior stood before the north gate of Cobbleston. Berg looks up, surprised, at the entourage gathered there as well. A dancer in red, a thief in purple, and the old Sunlander man.

"Hey guys!" Alfyn waves enthusiastically before looking to Berg, "These're my friends!"

"… Hail," Berg says with slight hesitance, "Are they here to see us off?"

"Ah, yeah… Actually, they're hopin' t' come with… I hope that's no problem…" Alfyn quickly adds, "They wanna help!"

Berg pauses before sighing, "… I suppose any help at this point is… appreciated. Cobbleston's own watch is needed here..."

Therion rolls his eyes and moves to walk out past the gate, "Can we get moving already? Don't want to end up finding the hostages dead, right?"

The thief's words rouse the warrior and he strides ahead of Therion and up the mountain trail. Alfyn jogs after him, followed by the rest of the entourage. Therion, in his foul mood, walks ahead of Primrose, leaving Sadiq to half-lucidly watch the rear. Shortly out of Cobbleston, the path turns rocky, similar to the road up the Highlands. It seems to have been trodden more however, and so is less difficult to walk on. But the drop is no less precarious.

"So… these bandits're up in some cave, right?" Alfyn pipes up after a few long minutes of silent walking.

"Aye. We'd known of many caves within the mountains. But the dangers they posed prevented thorough investigation. However, we are quite confident that they are hiding in one of those in the higher altitudes, away from the monsters lower in the Highlands."

"Oh great, we're gonna risk a goose chase at this point," Therion mutters, "For all you know, it's a complete maze system in there."

Before anyone else says anything, there is a clatter of rock nearby, behind the party. Sadiq instantly whirls around and strikes an offensive pose at the ready. The others look back in surprise at the noise's direction. There is a small sound like "yeep!"… and then no further sound for a few moments. Primrose looks to the old man ready to spring.

"Sadiq, did you see it?"

Sadiq silently walks near a cluster of rock, not answering. With a lightning motion of his arm, he wrangles out a struggling, smaller form from the rocks. The old man holds it at arm's length as it kicks and cries out. The others stare a bit, gawking.

"L-Lemme go!"

"P-Philp…!?" Berg speaks first, balking at the sight of the boy, "Y-you followed us!"

"Erm… Oh, hello Sir!" Philip says, trying to keep nervousness out of his voice, "I-I decided to come along…"

"Oh geez…" Therion curses inwardly. His bad mood must've dulled his senses. He hadn't heard the steps of the child following them at all.


	13. Chapter 13: To Fight A Bandit

Of all who could have followed them, it had to be a little boy like Philip.

"I-I just want to help, Sir Berg!" The boy protests.

"By Brand's Beard, Philip, you're too young to fight!" Berg bellows, "You disobeyed your mother and came up these mountains after us alone! You are lucky there weren't many creatures active at this time or you may have gotten hurt before we discovered you!"

The young boy's bottom lip quivers. Well, it takes your role model to break it to you. Therion has no mercy for him. He was not in the mood after having some little brat sidetrack what was already a huge detour. Go ahead, cry.

Berg sighs heavily, pinching his nasal bridge, "Come… we must bring you back to the village immediately. If your mother has realized already, the poor woman must be utterly distraught."

Philip opens his mouth to begin protesting. But he seems to think better of it, and clams up, only to pitifully nod his head.

"… I'm sorry sir…" He mutters miserably. But his eyes remain dry. Therion rolls his eyes when he sees the big man's face soften seeing the boy's expression. Primrose looks with a mixed expression at the child and then towards the road they will now have to backtrack. Alfyn seems a bit embarrassed for the kid, and he gently pats the boy's head.

"Hey, we all wanna do our part, yeah?" He tries to lift the boy's dampened spirits.

"…" Philip wipes his face a bit.

Berg sighs again, clearly weary of the situation, and begins to walk back the way they came, "We are on a tight schedule… Those brigands are expecting us."

Therion scoffs silently. But he knew just how volatile these sorts of situations were. Bandits, especially those who develop a taste for blood, are incredibly dangerous. Valuables don't sate them wholly anymore. They have a sadistic want to see people bleed and scream as they torture them at knife point. The thought of that made Therion shiver somewhat. Why would anyone go that far and do something so animal-like? What was the point?

He believed he hated that kind of self-gratification. It was unprofessional and downright beastly. But a small part of him knew that it was that slippery slope that unnerved him. That thin divide between a proud thief and a dirty brigand…

Marta liked to tell that story a lot over several rounds of ale. She easily outdrank most of her inner circle. Her boisterous voice projected out so the entire tavern could hear, but it's not like she cared to keep this a secret. It was the story of that telltale scar on her left arm. Therion had seen it many times. She wasn't ashamed of it, flaunted it practically. It's a long, discolored gash that goes along the base of her palm, down her wrist and the whole length of her forearm. On the other side, you can see where the blade had poked clean through the limb. It was purely by Aeber's luck she didn't lose her entire arm. But it still was weaker than her other one.

She'd gesture a bit with her schooner of ale as she spoke.

"There was a bloke y' know… The name Oskar was his. Fucking pissant… We were a bit of rivals. He was a master thief too. Knew his way around a knife like the tip of his nose. By the gods, we ran the largest heists! From Noblecourt, to Atlasdam, all the way to Grandport and then some! They called us the Bow and String y' know? Because no matter how hard y' draw a bow, the string ends up twangin' back. No matter how far we strayed apart, some news o' treasure would always draw the two of us like bloodhounds t' a hunt."

She'd take a deep swig and look around her table. Most of the people around her are passed out by now. Those awake are unashamed that they have barely finished two tankards of their alcohol. She would laugh and call them lightweights in friendly jest before continuing.

"Oskar… he was real good. A piece o' work, but one of the best I knew. He didn't follow none o' the codes, y' know? I'd always hope the gods would get 'im for those. Anyways, the big steal was coming to Saintsbridge. The crest of the Gerster family. You older ones might 'member them better, eh? Real big shots, the lot of 'em, in the Riverlands. They were having some big unveiling there, and the thing was crusted with eight precious gems. _That_ was where the true value lay, an' we were both eager t' get our hands on it."

Her voice fell a bit around her, and she'd get this look as she takes a slow sip, her gaze falling onto the liquid in her mug.

"… He was always violent y' know. Some broken bones, bloody noses, broken glass… It's why I thought I was better. But a load o' hogwash is what it is. Never think the violent ones're stupid. Sometimes, they're awful smart and wicked… When I ran in to the house, there was bloody murder everywhere. He'd killed every damn guard and walked right in like some big shot 'imself! I caught up t' him in the vault, an' he's near all red! All that blood! He gives me this laugh, an' I felt a chill, 'cos he'd done all that downright _on purpose_. The gems weren't enough. He needed to grandly murder all those poor saps…"

Here she paused a little. Her scarred hand clenched on the table.

"… I called 'im mad. He jus' laughed and came at me like a demon. The fight wasn't no more than a few seconds, and we both were like winds, I feel. Never had I been so close t' death, even durin' my most dangerous heists… He got me arm, an' I paid 'im back for that with one to the chest. Once y' get that feeling of killin' a man, y' either end up lovin' it, or y' hate it and wanna vomit. I hightailed outta there without the gems. By Aeber's luck, they couldn't trace me despite all that blood. But I heard Oskar an' the gems were gone the next day… an' y'all know that was one o' the supposed causes behind the call for war from Gerster, cos' they never found them gems. An' that war ended the lot of 'em."

She jilted her chair back to lean and look up slightly into the haze by the lights of the tavern from some smoke. It's hard to get inside Marta's head. Sure, she laughed or yelled like a madwoman often, but her voice and face don't betray any distinct emotion unless she allows it to. Usually, someone would be near tears or about to flip the table. But not her, leader of the greatest gang of thieves in all of Orsterra probably.

"I guess I'm hopin' I really did kill 'im in the end. World don't need more monsters… But we won't know now. He's as gone as the wind."

And then she'd get a bit raucous again, talking about how great it is to be young and stuff.

That Gaston guy… He was dangerous in a similar way. Maybe not the psycho murderer way. But he's not afraid to get his hands dirty, for sure. The ones that follow him are probably bigger risks. As much as Therion disliked that barmaid with diarrhea of the mouth, he didn't exactly want to stomach the sight of her dead at the hands of those bestial brigands. It would be … a bit of an inconvenience on his conscience at worse. But he wasn't the gallant type to say he could just murder someone like Marta did for the good of the world.

…

Down the mountainside, they could not have been more vulnerable. Berg was occupied and irate, torn, likely, with his duties to deliver Philip safely, and the thought of the hostages lingers still. It was visible on his tense face and brisk walking pace. Everyone in Cobbleston would probably understand, but it would only make them worry more about those taken. Time was a luxury that they were wasting.

Philip remained deathly quiet, no doubt afraid, as he was to be dragged back to town. At the back of Berg's mind, he did sympathize with the boy. There was no end to the shenanigans squires had pulled back in Hornburg to prove themselves to their knights. The youth likely is the same, too eager to rush into battle. He showed up many a time to the training sessions, and even rushed at Berg a few times with his wooden sword.

_But he is still too young!_

Berg lets out an irritable breath. Then he realized he'd failed to notice something in his angered state. With dread building, he turns to the others, a cry rising to his lips.

"WATCH OU-"

A handaxe comes flying out at them, cutting his words short. The weapon sails and embeds an edge deeply in his right shoulder. He stumbles back a bit, clutching the wound.

The others regather their senses at the sudden attack. Another ambush?

"Fucking hells…" Therion growls as he pulls out his sword and dagger.

From around them, three sneering brigands rush out. They brandish their hefty looking axes and pick their targets. Therion leaps to fend off one running for Alfyn. Sadiq narrowly misses another one heading for Primrose. The last one charges for Berg. Berg hastily dislodges the blade in his shoulder and rushes to meet the charge. The mercenary locks blades with the axe. His new wound would not have bothered him terribly if not for the fatigue these last few days. He had barely slept between bandit attacks and reconstruction efforts. The bandit makes a low shot between his legs, eliciting a grunt from the man as he falters.

"Sir, look out!"

"Philip, NO!"

He curses inward as the boy comes barreling his way, pulling out his wooden sword. There is a solid smack as he raps the toy on the brigand's back. But you don't strike wild beasts … because they just get angrier.

"Why you lil-!" The bandit snarls and swats the boy aside with a meaty palm.

"PHILIP!" Alfyn darts away from Therion's protection out of worry for the boy.

"Idiot, NO-" Therion briefly is distracted and the bandit he is engaged with gives him a rough shove, sending him into a collision with Alfyn, and they both end up on the floor.

"Al- Tsk!" Primrose has no time to worry about them as the bandit now runs at her. She braces under the strike of his axe with the hilt of her dagger with razor precision.

Philip lands a little away on the rocky ground. But luckily, it didn't seem to knock him out as he crashes. But Berg probably wishes it did. Because it would have stopped him from standing back up and doing anything else reckless.

"Philip, RUN!" Berg growls as he charges at the brigand. Sparks fly when their blades meet.

"Gaston's got 'is eye all trained on ya! But ye ain't much but rumored talk, eh?" The brigand sneers and recklessly bashes his head on Berg's, breaking their contact abruptly.

The swordsman stumbles backwards a bit from the unexpected blow. He hated street brawling styles. They held no rigidity, unlike what he learned back in the army. Scrappy fighters proved unpredictable and their fighting reflected it. There is no such thing as solid technique or battle etiquette to them. It is pure instinct to survive lashing out in every way it can, an utterly unpredictable style.

"Scoundrel!" He raises his blade with sudden rage. Pain shoots up his arm from where the axe had embedded itself, which he ignores. He cannot falter to these animals! Sheer will empowers his arms so they do not shake, and the blade is unwavering in its path as it strikes.

The brigand's sneer vanishes almost instantly when he sees the blade coming down. He doesn't even have time to recant his words.

"Holy-"

The cleave seems to cut even the pathetic thug's last words in twain as they hung in an unfinished exclamation in the air. Berg's blade, with its heft and edge, smash a bloody ridge into the other man's body, splitting him from top to about his waist. Even the bone was little to stand in the way of the blade, as the skull seemed to have simply cracked, and all the ribs and collar on the left side of the body were snapped. The body falls rather slowly, almost with deliberate drama, as its innards slop out along with gouts of spurting blood.

The blood had spurted and flecked onto Berg in addition to staining his sword. With a look of near bursting bloodlust, he glares at the remaining bandits, his grip ever as tight on his blade.

"Come at me, you gutless brigands!"

"Eep…" The inciting cry draws the brigand's attentions. They look down at the blood pooling around one of their own. There is fear, but they don't seem wholly repentant either. That scrappy act is still buried under there. The unpredictable instinct.

At once, the one grappling with Primrose makes a vicious kick at her. She twists her body to dodge it, just barely, jumping back slightly. With her disengaged, he takes out something from his side bag and quickly tosses it down with a swift motion.

There is a soft _POP_ sound and then billows of smoke blanket the area. A smoke bomb.

It doesn't smell like anything somniferous, but it certainly irritates the throat. Therion covers his nose with his scarf and presses his body on Alfyn's on the ground. Can't see a damn thing. Best to wait it out. The apothecary underneath him squirms.

"T-Therion, we gotta h-help...!" He gags a bit, struggling against the thief.

"Stay down, idiot!" Therion barks.

Through the thick smoke, he could hear the sounds of footsteps, fleeting and nimble. The brigands, probably. There are some slight exclamations. He could hear a distressed "Sir!" from the dumb kid, and a responding "Philip!" from the lug Berg, whose heavy steps were just clopping around.

In a different direction, he hears what might have been the jangling of one of the dancer's bracelets, and a very light "Tsk." There is then suddenly a "What the?!" from one of the brigands, and then a low thud, too light to be a body hitting the floor. And then all to be heard was heavy breathing and footsteps. One pair is getting farther and farther away.

The smoke eventually dissipates, and the scene revealed is surprising to say the least.

Sadiq has not moved, instead still vigilantly looking about for now bygone threats. Berg is likewise on guard. The dead brigand lays where he was cut down. The boy Philip is nowhere to be seen.

All eyes lay on Primrose now, and she is not alone. Before her, there is a bandit, standing stiff as a statue. From the looks of it, he'd tried to ambush her under the smokescreen. But now, tendrils of darkness creep out from his own shadow to bind his body. Primrose's shadow overlaps with his. The bandit's own axe is at his own throat. Likely not of his own volition.

"Gh...nh...hrn..." The brigand makes pitiful sniveling sounds as he cannot control his own body anymore, and a trickle of blood forms where the axe edge is digging into his vulnerable neck, "No, no, no... I-I didn't … didn't mean it..."

Therion, Alfyn and Berg can only watch as the merciless temptress enacts her fatal influence. The bandit's pleading eyes are bulging with fear. Against his own pleas, the brigand hacks into his own neck. His tongue hangs out as blood spills forth from his lips and his mouth gapes in vain to draw air into his crushed throat. Then he collapses heavily onto his knees, bowed before the dancer. She is turned away from the thief and apothecary, but the warrior sees her face.

The breath catches in his throat.

_There are tales of monsters among men... sirens and shadows... who prey on the souls of others … and play them like puppets._

She is beautiful, even with the dark eyes that gleam with a hellfire light. Her lips are parted slightly, as though in surprise, but her face is ultimately one of indifference. But she'd just _forced a man to kill himself_. Wretched as the bandits may be, they deserved a more just death...! The darkness chills him to the bone. But his will does not bend. Before the thief or apothecary can do anything, the mercenary rushes at the dancer with his blade.

"Wh- BERG, NO!" Alfyn cries out.

The point of a spear thrusts down before the mercenary, halting his advance. Holding the spear is the old Sunlander. Berg now sees his eyes are a bit glassy and unfocused. Despite his drive for battle, it may not actually be conscious movement. His gaze strays slightly to the dancer and he understood at once.

"... He's a pawn of yours as well..." Berg narrows his eyes at her.

She does not answer, instead looking quickly down to her hands and then to the body crumpled before her feet. The red eyes and dark tendrils fade, but to Berg, he still saw a demon.

Alfyn runs forward from under Therion to Sadiq's side, "Berg, what's the big idea?!"

"You too, Alfyn?!" The mercenary half-growls.

"What are ya talkin' about?"

"She's a temptress! You saw her force that man into killing himself!"

"Uh- wh..." Alfyn seems at a loss for words as he glances a bit nervously at the blood pooled nearby. He probably had no idea what she did really, even after having seen it before with the two guards.

"Stand aside! She's dangerous!" Berg's stance is unwavering, "We do not need more monsters among men…!"

Alfyn looks between him and Primrose, who does not answer to any of the claims. She lets them embed themselves in her like blades tossed from a drunken monkey. Her eyes do not meet his, nor anyone's.

"Hey."

The voice surprisingly came from the thief. He stands off a little to the side and points up the mountain, and then where Philip was not long ago.

"… They took the kid."

The words sink in and pull with them the veil that was momentarily over Berg's eyes. He had let himself be so easily distracted? Probably because of that disturbing memory of the time… in the crests near Everhold-

No! Not again!

"PHILIP!" He roars the boy's name in vain, as if it could summon him back, "Gods damn it all!"

The warrior rushes on ahead. Alfyn shouts after him, and makes a move to go after the man, but Therion stops him, grabbing him by the arm.

"Therion, he-"

"He's got his own fight up ahead. We don't have to get involved at this point…" He eyes the dancer a little, "Not sure he even wants us up there with him."

"But Philip's…! Berg's walkin' into a trap up there!" Alfyn protests.

Therion rolls his eyes, "The guy can handle it probably…"

Alfyn points at a small trickle of blood on the floor that leads the way the warrior ran, "He's hurt. An' I'll be damned if I let 'im get killed by those bandits… Him, or Philip, or any of 'em!"

The thief pauses. Something told him he wasn't going to get anywhere, and he relents, letting go of the apothecary's wrist with a sigh.

"… I… I dunno what in the name of Alephan just happened but… I gotta go on ahead. You guys might wanna hang back a bit?" Alfyn asks a bit hopefully.

At least he picked on _something_. But he's still pretty clueless.

"…" Therion's eyes told Alfyn all he didn't say.

"… Philip's all his mom's got after her husband died… an' Berg's probably got a lot on 'is own plate…" Alfyn starts to go after the mercenary, "I can't leave people if they're in a bind!"

With that, the apothecary runs off in pursuit of the warrior. The thief stares after the apothecary a bit. This is what happens when you pry too much. You get attached. Therion scoffs, tossing a slight glance over at the dancer, who has not moved nor spoken the entire time.

"… We're even now."

He said it quick, ripping off the bandage, before going after Alfyn. Primrose stands for a moment, she and Sadiq the sole figures along the mountainside. Then, slowly, reluctantly, like a puppet dragged by a languid puppeteer, she goes after the thief, and the old man follows with the slightest limp.

…

His head seemed to be full of useless, stupid thoughts these days. They dulled his senses so, but he could not stop himself from generating them.

Come to think of it, it had been long before he ever set foot in Cobbleston. Was it back when he saw his liege murdered before him, unable to do a single thing?

… Nay.

Something had certainly crumbled in him that day. Some sort of foundation. But it wasn't very firm to begin with. There were cracks in it that far predated that horrible moment. Were they maybe from his days as a knight? As he clashed with _that man_ over and over again, seemingly neither of them giving an inch, evenly matched?

… Nay. That was how he'd grown that crumbling foundation, to protect something he believed in… or was it actually a barrier to keep out a fear? He undoubtedly lost that day… Either way, when it fell, so did his confidence, and now his mind could only ponder on these silly things.

It was probably from when he was but a young boy. Sometimes, people laughed when he told them he wanted to become a knight. They all thought he was better suited to be a bookworm scholar. With the amount of thoughts filling his head, they might have been right. He was born with a natural hypersensitivity for the magic of Gates, which proved a bit fruitless when he fought with others on the grounds of pure martial power. Truth be told, he might have made a better strategist. But he was set on becoming a frontline warrior.

What he wanted was freedom from this bondage to these thoughts of regret and weakness and hesitance… Becoming a knight should have accomplished that for him. He wanted to become a pure, silent, unfeeling weapon of war. There was no need to dwell or think, just follow your orders and cut down your enemy…

Where had he gone wrong?

Yet again, these thoughts were crowding his mind, edging up and competing with the turmoil already occupying most of his attention. He still had to ensure the safety of the villagers from the immediate brigand threat. And then maybe he'd have to take care of that other threat with that seductress…

What he felt from her, that unease, was that familiar dark magic. He had felt it before, in one of his many brushes with death. It was one of his more engrained memories from the battlefield, which he could not shake easily. It has resurfaced in full force when he saw that woman's red eyes and that eerie dark energy twisting around that man's body…

_The visions of men, impaled on their own swords, prostrated before that malicious sorcerer. He had those same red eyes and a wicked grin. The same darkness danced around him, and from his fingertips were the strings which manipulated men's souls like puppets._

_The Unbending Blade was just short of buckling at the sight of the carnage wrought in the dead's own hands. The air is thick with something other than blood, and he felt like he couldn't breathe._

_And then the realization dawned that his own hands were wrapped around his neck, constricting his airway. As he gasped and wheezed, his own limbs would not obey his commands and he fell to his knees. He was already under the spell of darkness…_

If it weren't for Erhardt that time, he probably would be dead.

If it weren't for Erhardt, he wouldn't be dwelling on these idiotic sentiments. There would be no need to! Hornburg... and King Alfred...!

Amid his thoughts , he almost didn't hear the apothecary calling his name for the umpteenth time.

"… BERG? BERG!"

The boy followed him? He turns to see that, indeed, that dirty blonde apothecary had pursued him. He remains suspicious, of course. The boy had come with the dancer. Yet, he did not seem to be a pawn to her.

"… Alfyn," He pauses to let the apothecary catch up, "… You're still coming?"

"Well, I said I'd help out! So I will!" Alfyn nods affirmatively, with determination alight in his eyes. It was so alike to that of Philip's eyes whenever he pled to join a training session.

"… Be vigilant. They may have set another trap lest we follow…"

The apothecary nods. Then Berg sees the white haired one coming up the path. And behind him is… the temptress trailing not far behind. Alfyn follows his gaze and sees them come too. He waves as they approach. But an icy silence comes over when the woman catches up with them.

"… I don't have need of methods like yours," Berg says without disguising his disgust.

"You're asking to get yourself killed going in there," She says levelly in response.

"You seduce the unwary citizens of Orsterra... and force them to fight for you in battle, risking their own lifeblood! Your own body is but a poisonous draught to lure unsuspecting innocents! You are no better than a slaver lording over those in their thrall!" Berg says with the thunderous voice of a judge passing sentence, "I cannot fight knowingly alongside someone with no honor as such!"

His words cut. They cut deeper than the jeers and beatings she'd endured back in the town of a thousand pleasures. That she was … no different than those others… no different than Helgenish…

And then she remembered. Yusufa. Wilk. The town she abandoned. All for her own desire.

So, she accepted it.

"...You're right. I'm just a simple whore."

She said that so tersely, emotionlessly, that it visibly stunned Berg. A look of near fury passed his face when she turned away dismissively. He makes a slight move to advance, but Sadiq blocks his way defiantly.

"But I also know time is of the essence," Primrose says, still faced away, "You'd do better just letting us help rather than dally here discussing such morals."

Berg took this silently. Philip was in danger, and here they were, squabbling. But this woman... who was toying with human will! Like a god! Such an act drove him to nearly vomit with the revulsion rising in his chest when he thought of the brigand forced to kill himself.

"... …Yes." He concedes at last, "But… I will not have you staying in Cobbleston a day longer after this… You do not hold any of their welfare in regard… or any human life, for that matter."

She doesn't turn around, and just takes that next stab into her heart. She must remember it... her shield of faith... It will dull the pain, but not block it entirely.

"That is alright with me."

Therion frowns slightly on the side. But his displeasure does not go unnoticed, for Berg's eyes shift to him for a moment. And he took it as a challenge.

"What, you also condone her unscrupulous practice? These are _people_ for gods' sakes!" The bigger man barks at the thief.

"I didn't say anything," Therion glowers slightly at the knight.

"Are you also under her spell? It seems you have your tongue though."

"… Listen, not everyone can always take the high ground you know," Therion grinds his teeth slightly. This guy was getting on his nerves.

"There is no greater crime than to rob someone of their will. That is no high ground. That is _the_ ground. Even prisoners of war-"

"You've never had to scramble in the mud to survive, had you?" Therion sneers, "O'great and righteous knight … if only there were more of you who cared to defend the disadvantaged! Oh wait… you can't even do that, can you? Or this wouldn't even have been an issue! And we'd all be living happy on some tropical island without a care in the world!"

"Why you-" Berg moves with a growl towards the impudent thief to silence him. The apothecary jumps hastily in between to diffuse the situation.

"Shucks guys! Can't ya two _please_ just not, right now? We gotta save the hostages, an' that's that!"

The two resume a stormy silence with a slight gruff huff. Alfyn sighs uneasily.

"Are you boys coming or what?" Primrose calls from a few paces ahead, having bypassed them amid the argument, "I don't need anyone jumping to my defense."

Therion scowls, having stepped a toe out of line for nothing. He follows with the others behind her. She never looks back even once. Only Therion saw that quick movement as the dancer's hand moved to wipe at the corner of her eye.

…

The brigand's den was one of obvious moral rot and depravity. Crates, barrels, and sacks of looted goods line the walls as well as chests and torches that illuminate the cavern ways. The brigands seem to be making merry, drinking their fill by a makeshift bar with tables. But it was also tightly controlled at this moment, as Gaston paced the grounds. At his feet is one of his lackeys. He'd only come running back a few moments ago, shouting that the Cobbleston mercenary was on his way. And he'd bought back some kid.

"I tell ye lot not to aim fer what y' can't reach!" Gaston viciously kicks the man in the ribs, "Ya gone an' cost us more men!"

The lackey yelps and blubbers his useless apologies through his bloodied mouth and bruised face. The others in the den chuckle, some with a nervous edge.

"Did it feel good?! Did 'ya like runnin' in an out wit' yer tail 'tween yer legs?" Gaston hoists the other man up by the hair, screaming in his face, "DID YA?!"

"N-n-n-no! No, Gaston, I swear!" The stupid sap chokes out. His pants are already wet from fear piss.

"Let this be a lesson t' all o' you!" Gaston slams the lackey down on the ground with brutal force. There, he leaves the twitching body.

The other brigands are no longer laughing. They knew Gaston was strong. Not only in battle, but in charisma. He rallied all these ne'er-do-wells together after all. Some knew him from another time, back in the Black Brotherhood.

"We rule this mountain! But we toe outta line an' we'll have bigger problems comin' than the monsters!" Gaston barks to his following, "Y'hear?! We're a band to _survive!"_

There is a rowdy cheer in response.

Over in the miserable prisoner's corner, Philip was bought in to join Noelle and the others. Like them, he was gagged and his arms and legs were secured as they were forced to sit in silence. Two axe men brigands stood guard over them and took turns scaring them with their leery attitude and weapons.

"Ehehe, too bad for you eh, boy?" One of the guards mockingly plays with the boy's chin, "We didn't _plan_ t' take lil' ones, but I guess life ain't always how ya planned eh?"

He loosens the gag a little on the boy's lips. The defiant child spits at his face.

"AARGH! Ye dirty lil' brat!" The brigand recoils and lashes out, striking the boy across the face. Philip topples over on his side by the other hostages, who give a slight muffled whimper. He bites his lip so he doesn't cry out.

"That'll teach ya!" The brigand growls.

"... Berg will..." There is a mutter from Philip as he struggles to sit up.

"Hah? Wazzat?"

"S-Sir Berg will definitely come and beat you all!" The boy shouts with sudden vigor. It reverberates with the cavern acoustics. The other brigands now take notice.

"Oh yeah?! We-"

"What's going on here?" The horned figure of Gaston emerges behind him, casting its daunting shadow over the boy on the floor, "... Who said you could hit the brat?"

"Uh-"

There is a crack as Gaston's fist impacts the side of the brigand's head and sends the rest of him flying. He lands among some crates and does not get back up.

"Berg, you say?" Gaston gives a rather nasty grin down at the boy. With one hand, he easily sits the boy up, and squats before him like a scientist before a specimen, "You know 'im well, do ye? Tell me... how's he fight, hm?"

"B-better than all of you scoundrels...! He's stronger than all of you put together!" The boy tries to sound brave and confident in his words, "You won't stand a chance once he comes!"

"Stronger'n all of us?"

"The boy's daft!"

"Now that's a laugh!"

The rabble around laugh heartily at the child's bluff. But Gaston seems a bit more pensive. His eyes narrow a little on the boy, and Philip squirms under his scrutiny.

"I-it's true! An' you lot'll all be sorry for laughing once he's done with you!"

Noelle tries in vain to gesture for the boy to curb his enthusiasm. The brigands continue laughing around them.

"What, is 'e some legendary knight from them fairy tales? A lone hedge knight?"

"'E'd be more madman 'n knight t' come fight us, y'know, an' with half a brain t' win!"

"SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!"

Gaston's enraged voice cuts through the laughter and mirth like an axe. The brigands all jump a bit at the shout, and some spill their drink.

"If you all have the guts t' laugh, how about ye sharpen up yer damn stabbers?!" Gaston growls. His fur cape made him look like a massive horned bear of a beast, bristling and ready to strike, "I don't want t' hear any more about ye losin' t' some thief or ol' spearman! Got it?!"

They all hastily nod their heads. Gaston then turns his attentions back to the boy before him, who had recoiled a little at the sudden shout.

"Ye got spunk, lad. For sure. More n' brains... but we ain't got much o' that here either," He chuckles, gesturing at his lackeys, "Ye'd make a fine bandit."

"W-what...?!"

"How about it, eh?" Gaston gives a rather unsettling grin, like that of a predator before prey, "Ye wanna be part of our family, boy?"

"N-NO! Never!" Philip does his best to squirm away from the man and that grin.

"Oh? And why not, eh?" Gaston easily presses the toe of his boot on the bit of rope from the boy's bonds, stopping the prey from getting further, "C'mon now-"

"NO! I'M GOING TO BE A BRAVE WARRIOR LIKE SIR BERG! NOT LIKE YOU BOTTOM FEEDERS!" Phillip shouts shrilly.

The other bandits repress either a snigger or growl at the name-calling. Gaston's grin lessens, but does not vanish. The eyes from the afterworld themselves may as well have been boring into the boy from that man's skull.

"Bottom feeders eh... Now where'd ye learn that kind of tongue?"

"B-because that's what you all are! M-me mum says-!"

Gaston lets out a laugh that reverberates through the caves. Nervously, some of his men join in. He silences them with a hand in the air.

"Boy. Do you think anyone _wants_ t' be a bottom feeder?" Gaston stands and towers over Philip, "Nay."

Philip swallows nervously.

"Let me tell you something-"

"STEP AWAY FROM THE BOY!"

The head brigand's words cut short and all eyes now look towards the entrance of their little den. Emerging from the darkness of the caverns is Berg with the strangers out of town behind him. Gaston sees the thief in purple and the warrior and his former grin returns. The other bandits are less than thrilled.

…

"Welcome to our humble abode," Gaston spreads his arms a little as he faces the party expectantly, "I apologize for any trouble my men gave you upon coming here."

Therion almost would have preferred if it was just the brigands bothering them. While Alfyn luckily had a lantern so they could even see in the cave darkness, the party as a whole was still in icy silence despite the apothecary's best efforts to thaw it. The princess wasn't speaking to any of them. The damn self-righteous warrior was too busy focused on his own mission. Therion sorely wished they really had skipped Cobbleston.

"'E really mus' be mad, as 'e actually came," Gaston chuckles, "Courage over sense, ey? Though you've got some mighty shady ones following you."

"Release the hostages, you cur!" Berg growls, drawing his large sword, "Or I will cut you down as I did your other lackeys!"

"Bwahahahaha!"

At the threat, Gaston blurred from where he stood. He may be big, but he was alarmingly fast too. He was upon Berg with sword drawn in an instant.

There is a loud clashing sound as their metal weapons met with a moment of sparks. Gaston had been fast to attack, but Berg countered flawlessly. In the firelight, it was a brilliant, momentary flash.

For Berg, it reawakened an old nightmare.

This man, his movements, and most importantly, the sword...

_He saw the red dripping down that blade, made specially for the hands who wielded it with a sudden coldness. The Flaming Blade. Its edge was still keen. The blonde man stood impassively as a passing breeze through the mountains ruffled his fair locks. His green eyes stared daggers down at Olberic as he approached._

He could never forget that rage, and that humiliation...

"_What have you done, Erhardt?!"_

The scar at his temple... How it itched at the sight of its maker...

_The other man just looked at him with little words. Blood had spattered on his face from the kill. But he still looked utterly serene. _

"_Nothing more than justice."_

When the parry ended, he'd pushed the other back. The thugs in the room were utterly flabbergasted.

"W-what the-?!"

"'E jus' pushed the boss back?"

"Hang me, ain't ever seen that afore...!"

Therion, taking advantage of the situation a little, slips off on the side, having spotted another opening to the cavern, closer to the hostages. Let the brutes beat this one out. He wasn't hungry for another knuckle sandwich.

"… You're strong. And fast," Gaston chuckles, "And your sword is rather unique."

At the brigand captain's words, Alfyn and Primrose take notice of Berg's sword for its true form for the first time. It is as long as a claymore, with a double hand hilt and simple guard. But the blade was thicker, wider, and ended with an axe-like edge rather than a beveled point. Its polished metal had interesting runes scrawled onto its base, but they did not know what language it was from. It was indeed not quite a sword one would expect from a run of the mill mercenary.

"… As is yours," Berg says grimly, blade still positioned to strike again.

Gaston's blade was something of equally intriguing craftsmanship. The hilt and guard were golden, and the guard was a simple, thin rectangular base, but intricately decorated with minute fiery motifs drawn in metallic red ink. Its blade was slightly wider towards its beveled point. What was scrawled on the blade are runes alike to the ones on Berg's sword. Both showed the same peerless craftsmanship.

"… Where did you get that," Berg asks in a voice barely level, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, interested, are we? That's a nice fire in yer eyes…" Gaston's grin is unceasing, "I got it from an old friend as a parting gift."

"…" Berg lets the accursed name fall from his lips.

"Erhardt?"

Gaston's face twitches in amusement almost. Most of everyone else listening had no idea what that name meant. But it was getting palpably tense. Prim sees the other brigands begin to draw their arms. She nudges Alfyn lightly with her elbow, her daggers gripped furtively behind.

"So, ye know 'im… an' with some history too, I'll reckon," Gaston says, voice dripping with anticipation and relish.

"… As if I needed more reason to cut you down…" For a moment, Berg's stance lowered. But he merely took one more offensive, "But I will have you tell me before I split you in twain… where is the man?"

"If you want to ask the question… I'll have you earn the right!" Gaston dashes in, "This is what we were waitin' for, boys!"

At his cry, several of the brigands leap forward, some cackling with savage abandon as they draw their axes, no longer unsure. Alfyn swallows and draws his axe. Prim and Sadiq stand before the brigands who skirt around Berg. It seems Gaston wants the warrior for himself.

"Come, Berg! I want to know the depths of yer strength!"

"You will regret this, brigand!" Berg roars in response as he meets him with a ferocious charge.

"A-ahh…!" The apothecary sweats a bit as he sees the oncoming bandits.

"Alfyn, keep calm!" Primrose says brusquely.

"Hi-ho!" Sadiq swings his spear downwards and slams a brigand on the crown of his head with the shaft. There is a crack as the man falls backwards, eyes rolled into his head.

But these men are not easily deterred by the fall of their own. And their numbers offered them great advantage. The spear and axe were not so effective against their tactics. Their own axes could parry polearms and wider, flat blades. Primrose downs one after stabbing his chest, but her efforts alone were far too little to deal with them. They all get a little separated amid the fray.

"Ugh-!" Alfyn is knocked down by a vicious kick. The offending brigand proceeds to step on him.

"Alfyn!" Prim growls and her eyes glow red, "_Night Ode!"_

An arc of darkness flares from her hand and blasts three bandits, including the one antagonizing Alfyn. They cry out from the accursed magic as it seems to sap the life out of their bodies. It is not entirely able to knock them out, but it does bring them down to their knees, making them easier targets for Sadiq to pick off.

"Wahoo!" He eagerly plunges his spear into one. But another tears a gash on his arm. The old man normally was inured but this time he winced.

Therion quickly popped up around the back entrance of the cavern. It seems all brigand hands were on deck fighting. The hostages were left unguarded. What idiots. It was a good idea after all to split for a different venue.

He furtively sneaks over to the nearest hostage, who gives a muffled grunt of surprise. Therion motions for him to keep quiet as he goes to sever the bonds with his old dagger. All the while, he kept a watchful eye on the fight's progress.

Gaston and Berg were like two beasts, completely embroiled within their own clashing territory. The lackeys skirted around them, because if Berg didn't cut them down, Gaston sure as hells would. Their swords created sparks as bright as the flames illuminated on their blades. Gaston had speed, undoubtedly. Berg matched it, and with muscle too. The two seemed evenly matched, neither gaining much of any ground on the other in pure sword play.

"Yer good alright... How about this!"

Gaston throws a wide level slash at the mercenary. Berg blocks it, but the impact on his blade was still a little numbing, given its force. He is forced back a few inches. That was enough for Gaston to get up in his face.

Berg saw the flash of the sword and parries it again, but he felt it was light. A one-handed strike. Gaston's other arm flies from his side and bludgeons the scarred side of his head, seemingly from nowhere. It was an even greater force than when he hit Therion. The mercenary could swear he heard ringing and felt his brain jostle in his own skull. Then it suddenly all went dark. Amid a spurt of blood from his nostrils, Berg's eyes rolled up and he collapsed forward on his knees. With a solid smack to the back, Gaston sent the big man sprawling on the ground, where he lay unmoving.

"S-SIR BERG!" Philip cries shrilly. He struggles to go to the man as Therion holds him back to cut the ropes.

The boy's cry draws Gaston's attention, much to the thief's immense annoyance. Some other brigands look too.

"'Ey, e's tryin' t' steal the hostages!"

"Take the others," Gaston says nonchalantly as he strides towards the thief, "'Ello there, friend."

Therion's neck hairs prick up at the tone of his voice. Philip darts away from him, not scared at all, running for the unconscious mercenary.

"Yer suggestion was golden. Now we've got 'im," Gaston says with a grin too wide. He was now directly before the thief. He let Philip pass him without resistance.

"... Yeah," Therion mutters and fingers his bangle, "So you got something to get this off or what?"

"'Fraid not."

He figured he'd say that. Never trust a bandit.

In the next split millisecond, Gaston saw the thief's fingers move. The thief wasn't as strong as Berg, for sure. But he was faster. Much faster.

There is a sudden howl throughout the cavern of a wounded beast. It momentarily halts all battle.

"What th- Boss?!"

The brigands had never heard such a cry from their leader.

Alfyn, who had run over to Berg's side along with Philip, turns and gasps.

Gaston was bristling, panting heavily. Stuck in his abdomen was the protruding hilt of a dagger. One hand clutched at the bloody wound. The other had punched Therion into the wall. Blood dripped from both his hands. Therion's limply hangs from where the fist nailed his head, with an occasional twitch from his fingers.

"THERION!"

"Gah..." Gaston relinquishes his hold on the thief, letting the bloodied man slide to the floor in a heap. He looks at his wound with disgust, "Poison..."

"Tsk..." Primrose scowls as she slashes another brigand. Two downed on their side. The odds were bad enough as it was.

"Berg, sir Berg! Please..." Philip shakes the downed man with desperation, "Please wake up...!"

"You lowly thief!" Gaston growls and kicks the motionless thief.

"Ugh..." Alfyn scrambles to his feet and runs at Gaston, "STOP IT!"

Out of desperation, he throws his axe. It lands lower, striking Gaston's leg. The madman howls again. The poison was already making him sluggish. Now he stumbles a bit to face the apothecary, who wrangles with him, trying to pull him away from the hostages and Therion. With another punch, he sends Alfyn sprawling, and spills some contents from his bag.

"Guh!" Alfyn gasps and struggles to get up. The punch might have re-fractured his just-healed broken rib.

"Alfyn!" Primrose gives a slight gasp when a brigand cuts her across her arm, "Ngh!"

Sadiq gives a low grunt as he's knocked down by three brigands. The dancer cannot see him past the movement of bodies leering at her. As the tides of battle seemed ready to crush them, she felt that desperate emotion again. The one she felt when something in her snapped … when Yusufa died … when she watched a girl become orphaned by the death of her father… That bubbling, all-consuming power was threatening to burst.

"GRR...!"

A furious series of movements spawn from her body in a blur of darkness. Several brigands are encircled by the snare and flung like marionettes on a string away to the cave walls. Berg blinks a bit blearily, having regained his senses. He watches the nightmarish ode with awe. The red-eyed dancer now runs to blast Gaston away before he can harm Alfyn or Therion further.

"Sir! I'm glad you're alright...!" Philip says with relief. In his hand is the stem of the revival herb he used from Alfyn's spilled satchel.

"...Philip!" Berg looks to the boy with renewed urgency, "You need to round up the others and get away! Leave this fight to us. Go now, soldier."

The boy was about to protest. But at the address of "soldier," he can only salute and hurry to accomplish what his role model ordered him do. Berg stands, not a waver in his step to rejoin the battle. His head was still ringing, and his eyes hurt a bit when he looked too quickly. But there wasn't a lot left to do. The dancer had disposed of most of the brigands with her dark magic. As she battled with Gaston, the toll of the magic was beginning to show and her movements slow.

"Yer an interestin' woman..." Gaston leers as he deflects her dark strikes, "I reckon ye've killed a lot eh?"

"Shut UP!" She sends a black flare at his face. Any lesser would have been taken by surprise.

But he merely deflects it with a whirl of his blade. On his face is a mischievous grin. Exhausted, Primrose pauses in movement for a second. That was all the brigand needed. Berg realized he was watching it happen all over again.

_With that single stroke, Erhardt severed King Alfred-_

"NO!"

Gaston brings down his mighty blow. Berg had moved at that moment to intercept it. But Sadiq was faster.

The old man's strength had waned a lot through their constant battles now. The force from the blow did not break his spear. But it shattered his arm, allowing the blade to bypass the shaft and push down, deep into his chest. Primrose, behind the old man, can only stare once more in abject terror. She had been protected yet again.

Blood spurts from the grievous wound and the spear clatters onto the floor. Sadiq sags to the ground slowly, limply slumping onto his knees. There is a rasp of breath from him.

"The old man was still moving?" Gaston gives a slight pant, having used much stamina in that blow, "Tsk…"

The dancer suddenly rushes towards him in a blur of red. No more magic tricks. Just pure, silent fury pouring from her eyes. Her pure speed allows her to thrust a dagger into him. But he moved at the last moment, so the blade missed anything vital, lodging into his shoulder. He grunts and sends her flying with a solid backhanded slap. She lands with a crash, toppling the nearby table.

"Prim!" Alfyn watches in horror at the bodies about the place. Regardless, his shaky hands move to treat Therion, "Shit… Dammit…!"

"Argh… bitch!" Gaston winces as the venom and other wounds take their toll. Half his face is turning a sickly grey color from the viper dagger. Nonetheless, he faces Berg with grim resolution, gripping his sword for another might blow.

"… I commend you on your strength," Berg says grudgingly as he readies his own sword, "But you are clearly on your last legs."

"… Me mum always said I'd die a dog's death…" The brigand chuckles lowly, "Can't do a single lick o' honest work… just swingin' a sword… … So, COME!"

Despite his injuries, Gaston charges with the same vigor from the beginning, whirling his blade. Berg meets the charge with a level slash. While he was close to having had his brains bashed out, Berg's sword swings at a steady arc, catching the other's blow and shifting its momentum.

"_Sometimes, hitting harder just doesn't get the job done, Olberic."_

His sword grinds along the flat of the other and delivers a solid blow across the other man's chest. But he wasn't done.

_I learned that from you, Erhardt… And I made these techniques from those lessons. All for the purpose … so that if I see you again…_

Berg's arm swings in an arc, coming down from the other side. He cuts across Gaston once more, from a mirrored angle to the first stroke. The cuts intersect like a cross on Gaston's body.

_I'll kill you._

Gaston makes no sound as he falls back, blood streaming from his wounds. He lands with a heavy thud on his back. There is suddenly silence, save for the heavy breathing. Berg staggers a little, still feeling the concussion. But when he's about to fall, he feels two pairs of arms help hold him up.

"Geez you're heavy…" The bloody-faced thief grunts.

"Berg! You alright?" Alfyn looks to the mercenary worriedly.

"Ugh… Y-yes… Thank you, Alfyn…"

The two help him sit down.

"…Where… are the hostages?" Berg doesn't even notice his nose bleeding still.

"The kid led them all out…" Therion winces a bit, holding one side of his head, "Gods, that fucking hurt…"

"Philip should bring some reinforcements, right…" Alfyn wipes the mercenary's nose, "Oh shoot, Sadi!"

"Yes…" Berg holds the apothecary's handkerchief to his face as Alfyn goes to where the old man kneels, "All these brigands… will serve their terms in the gaol…"

"Sadi? Sadi! Don't worry… I-I'll close these wounds…" The apothecary's trained hand was fumbling on the bloody body as his other hand rummages his bag for bandages, "Ugh... s-so much blood... oh b-buh... don't worry..."

"… Alfyn," Therion goes to the hysterical apothecary, shoving down the sickening feeling in his stomach. It was similar... or exactly the same, to seeing the girl in the desert.

Sadiq's body had a gaping wound from his shoulder down to the base of his ribs, and it looked ready to split his torso. The other wounds littering his body were bloody and bruised. He hadn't even healed from the brigand's earlier assaults. But his face … for some reason, looked serene. His lips move a little and Therion hears the low gasps of the dying.

"S-Sadi…?" Alfyn bends down, somewhat hesitant and afraid.

What the old man whispered, Therion could barely pick up even with his keen hearing. But he sees Alfyn twitch. Then those broad shoulders quake a little.

"… Ok... Good night… Sadi…" Alfyn chokes up.

Therion saw some of the men around groan. Prim's crazy magic had left some of them alive. For the first time, he was feeling something burning from within, egging, goading him to end them. He looks back to Sadiq's body and his scowl lessens.

"… Thanks for everything, old man."

…

Gaston thought he'd feel the all-devouring heat of the afterworld come up upon him like a flame to a kettle. Indeed, he felt pain, but it was of the cold kind. There were muddled voices all around in the darkness as he floated. He heard his mother again.

"_I gave you life… and you humiliate me in front of this whole forsaken town!"_

"_I knew your father gave you bad blood… you'll die a dog's death as he!"_

She was long gone though. But there were others in the dark. Voices from the villagers he'd terrorized. They rose up like an angry wind, merging into a single, ghastly howl that threatened to drown him in choking rage. He felt like he'd pass out.

"_NO! YOU DON'T GET IT THAT EASY! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"_

"_GET… UP…"_

"…Alright, up with you."

He blinks blearily at the man shouting at him. An armed villager. He felt pain all over his body. But he couldn't move. His wrists were bound. Above, he could see the ceiling of the cave lit by the flames.

He was alive.

"Ugh…" The brigand leader winces, feeling his wounds still. But they had been treated sufficiently.

"Come on. You're going to the gaols."

As he's roughly shoved to his feet, he sees a good portion of his men are also tied up and being led out by the village cavalry. The dead were covered in sackcloth to be disposed of.

Berg was standing, watching the herding of the criminals to the cells. His nose bleed had stopped and Alfyn treated his concussion further. The thief and green one are helping with some bodies and the green one was even treating them. Likely he cured whatever poison was in the thief's dagger. The bitch in red was sitting before a covered body, holding onto a spear.

"… So, I live…" Gaston mutters as he passes the hedge knight, "By your grace, I assume."

"…You and your men will answer for your crimes," Berg says stoically.

Gaston smirks with mockery, "Well, a man's got to own up some time, hm."

"And that you will. Move it."

The villager shoves him roughly along.


	14. Chapter 14: Last Words

_She saw the red bloom like a delicate flower from the wound as Sadiq fell and the sword pulled from his body. In that moment, the old man sagged before her and the life drained from him… and she could see it. A field of bloody flowers, red as roses..._

_And then it was all red she saw._

_Her body moved because she willed it to. Despite its screaming of fatigue, she managed to stab that offending brigand… but she… couldn't kill him… couldn't avenge Sadiq… Instead, she was pathetically tossed aside._

_And then it was all dark._

Her eyes cracked open hearing a gentle voice rousing her, and something wet and cool on her head. Her eyes opened to see a blur at first, which focused to show Alfyn's worried face. He told her not to move. There was a sharp pain radiating from her head. Getting hit in the face by Gaston was just asking for a concussion. She felt it… but she was almost grateful. It numbed out the whirlwind of emotion howling inside her when her eyes fell to Sadiq's body on the cold cavern floor. Any other noise in the background suddenly was drowned out by a moment of her own heart skipping a beat.

"Ah…"

"Oh…" Alfyn gives her an apologetic look, on the verge of tears himself, "S-Sadi… he…"

The dancer didn't seem to fully register his words anymore. But her lips trembled despite her silence, and her eyes were wide, still with disbelief despite the truth which was bearing down. Her head shakes a little and the tears begin to gather. Alfyn holds her tightly in a sudden hug, muttering reassurances, all the while choked up himself.

"...It's ok... It- it's ...ok..."

She clings to him a little, sobbing bitterly in a low voice onto his shoulder.

The thief barely glances their way. He'd tied up most of the brigands with some rope he found in their stash. His step was still wobbly as he fumbled through their goods. But he felt hollow as he found things that normally would have made him at least smirk. The brigands had a nice bundle of leaves hoarded away, along with small trinkets he could sell. But all of it suddenly just seemed so cold and useless.

He doesn't look back towards the reinforcements. He doesn't want to see them hauling away the living and dead. He'd felt the need to kill just thinking about it.

A villager goes to pick up Sadiq's spear. The thief grabs the shaft before he does. When the villager is about to protest, the thief silences him with a single glance. Therion didn't even know what face he himself was making.

"Sir Berg!"

"Hm?" Berg stills his head a little with a hand. Even turning slightly aggravated his vision still. Alfyn told him it might be a day or so before he felt completely fine.

"Those people who came with you, the outsiders..."

"... Leave them be to come back with us. Their apothecary is treating the brigands as we speak."

"What- So _he's_ the bloke who treated these animals? But why?"

"Don't ask too many questions, Doyle," Berg sighs, "But they must face their crime. Death is an escape. We will determine their fate with the townmaster, so for now we must swiftly deliver them."

Doyle nods and they get on with the transport. Berg watches from the side as the thief brings the spear over to the dancer and apothecary. Alfyn says something before going to treat some others. The thief lingers before walking off to loot more. The dancer … Berg's eyes lay on her.

_On the battlefield, it was hell. If you could develop a taste for it, for blood and carnage, that would make you stronger than most. Revel in your enemy's weakness as they bleed and charge to no avail. That thrill of the fight … it's only "barbaric" if you were weak._

"_A battle is truly joy."_

_King Alfred was giving the recruits a talking-to. That was one of his admirable traits. Alfred had been a knight before he was adopted into the royal line. He knew the ways of battle unlike the lofty nobles who ruled afar in their towers._

"_As long as you feel that, you will want to continue fighting, and no one will be able to stop you, my brave squires."_

_In their first real battle, Olberic bellowed like a madman. It was supposed to be a rallying cry. But somewhere down the line, his voice got caught in his throat. His mouth felt dry. All around him were men dying, and the stench of blood rising. His own allies lay with wounds littering their bodies, never to rise again. When the bloody banner of Hornburg was hoisted above, there was a cheer for victory. _

_Erhardt was silent next to him. They both were. The cheers drowned out the cries of others cradling their brothers in arms._

_He learned to numb himself to it. Killing soldiers became easier, until he could do so without thinking. He was becoming it, the unthinking, unfeeling weapon he desired. The Unbending Blade._

_One who has committed so many sins as well, that they are inured to it and all its consequences..._

"_You do not hold any of their welfare in regard… or any human life, for that matter."_

_Which one of them did that statement apply to? Him, the cold-blooded murderer? Or her, the temptress?_

He did not answer the question. But with the battle over and his mind clearing, the useless thoughts were returning to stay.

...

I killed him.

Just like how I killed Yusufa.

And I … …

Why do I always have to... helplessly watch others die... I'm always being … protected it seems...

I'm just sitting here feeling sorry for everything. My hands are curled around the spear shaft. My eyes won't leave the body of Sadiq, covered by the sackcloth. Nothing else... everything around me seems to melt into a messy blur.

Therion calls me a princess sometimes. I hate that. Because it's true. Like a princess, I am sheltered. I thought my experience in Sunshade would change that. I thought I was taking my fate into my own hands. I thought I knew… all the pain and depravity the world had to offer. But I still can't protect anyone, even those I dragged with me out of my own selfish whims. And now... their blood stains my hands.

It would have been better if I had left Sunshade on my own, without a word to anyone. Yusufa and Sadiq would probably...

"... Hey," Therion's voice pulls me out of my thoughts and I look up to his weary face. Despite his usual front, I couldn't help but think he looked as miserable as I must be. Behind him, I see the brigand leader led out of the cavern.

The thief runs a hand down his face and sighs, "We're going back... to town."

"... ok..." My voice acted without me needing to feel anything. It is hollow and detached, like I'm possessed. Slowly, I drag myself to stand, leaning a little on the spear for support.

"...Have you thought about..." Therion says in a low voice, leaning in a little, "Where he would want to be buried..."

"Sunshade," I say with no hesitation and sudden clarity, "Next to Yusufa."

"...You're crazy," He scoffs.

"Hey guys, we're uh, about to be going..." Alfyn trots back over, blood staining his clothes and hands. He seems pale.

Before me or Therion respond, he wraps his arms around both of us in a hug. Beside me, I don't feel the thief push against him like he normally would. He seemed to just accept it as Alfyn now slowly cried a little onto the both of us.

I slowly go to rub the back of his head. My bloodied hand shook a bit.

…

Returning to the town, Berg was greeted first when Philip fought through the crowd giving him a hero's welcome. The boy barreled through the legs of the crowd to tackle the man into as large a hug on the waist as he could muster. He was, however, promptly pulled off by his mother, who would never let the boy out of her sight ever again. She was thoroughly apologetic to the hedge knight.

"Thank you so much... Thank you, Berg... for saving my boy..." She babbled a bit tearily.

"It is nothing..." Berg manages, completely spent. Even the boy's hug actually made his stance waver a bit from fatigue.

The village headman comes forth and nods with a small smile under his graying whiskers, "You're too modest, Berg! Everyone owes you their livelihood after you've taken care of the bandits in one fell swoop! Not only are the hostages safe, but we need not live in fear of the animals any longer..."

"I... did not accomplish this alone," The man says solemnly and gestures towards the outsiders mixed among the village watch behind him, "Sir Alfyn and his friends were... more than instrumental to our victory."

"Ah, of course!"

There is a ragged cheer for the party. Alfyn chuckles a bit halfheartedly. Therion and Prim are as grim and silent as ever.

"Let them rest!" The headman bellows with unusual vigor, "Tonight we shall hold a feast in honor of this great battle in our favor!"

There is another round of cheering.

"For now, however..." His voice lowers and the crowd quiets at his gesture, "We must lock up the criminals and attend to any wounded. And the dead must be lain to rest with dignity."

The crowd agrees with a somber round of nodding heads and murmurs. They move to help take the bodies and lead the defeated to the gaol. Others aid with moving the loot taken from the den, probably to redistribute it.

"Alfyn!"

The party sees the familiar barmaid run up to them. She stops just short of hugging Alfyn.

"You saved us!"

"Uh, ehe... Therion got to you guys first," Alfyn gestures to the recalcitrant thief behind him, "We all helped!"

"Yes... you all should go rest and... I'll see you all tonight? I'll buy all your drinks!"

"Sounds great," Alfyn gives a tired smile. Noelle blushes before scurrying off again.

Prim's eyes watch lifelessly as the bodies in sackcloth are taken away. But she stops the movers when it comes to Sadiq.

"Ma'am, uh, what are you..."

"Ah, it's alright..." Alfyn lightly pulls Prim aside, "Can you guys um... make sure he's set aside from the others? He wasn't from here, so we'd like to bury him elsewhere..."

"Oh, ok..." The movers seem slightly confused by the interruption, but they go on carrying.

"... C'mon guys..."

Alfyn coaxes the other two back towards the inn. Berg watches as they go.

Again, those thoughts surface...

_After that hard battle, he saw one of the soldiers of his bunk vomiting his guts out. The man wanted to leave the military, but to do so was utter disgrace. Such young, able bodies were crucial in a time of war. The enemy nation of Ventus was not one to be taken lightly despite its size compared to Hornburg._

"_Me best … I jus' lost me best friend today too... Gods, this is the Hells..."_

_Olberic didn't know really what to say. There were too many things he could say, that they jammed into each other in his mind. He just patted the man's back. When he felt like he could take it no longer, Erhardt appeared._

"_...Come on then. What say we buy you a drink?"_

_The three of them walked, with Erhardt's arms looped around the backs of him and the other soldier. Those three were... very similar..._

The man sighs wearily. His wounds ached still. But he couldn't rest just yet. He still had to claim his prize. Slowly, Berg made his way to the town gaol.

…

Gaston wasn't in the most comfortable place in the world. He was by no means a petite man. The cell afforded to him would have made him feel claustrophobic if he was the kind of person who cared. Instead he mused to himself a little with just what fate this town would decide for him and his men. The other brigands were being locked into cells here as well, but he had this one all to himself. How lucky. It was even isolated from the others in its own little room.

He'd made up his mind in the cave that he'd beg for his men's lives. They were all the family one was going to get in the business, and it wouldn't hurt to end his useless life doing something nice maybe.

There was the sound of brisk, heavy footsteps. The door to the room swings open and he sees the hedge knight, Berg standing there, face stern as stone. The keeper closes the door behind him. He ignores the stool offered, instead standing firmly before the bars of the cell.

Gaston chuckles and shifts on the straw on the cell floor, "Nice to see you again so soon."

"I bested you and now I will ask my questions," Berg's face and tone were not playful in the slightest.

"…Aye. Twas my wager lost," Gaston raises his hands, "Ye wanted to know about Erhardt?"

"Yes. How did you happen to come across his sword?"

"He bequeathed it to me, frankly. I learned the ways of the sword under the man, an' when our times were up, he gave it t' me as a partin' gift."

"How did you know him?"

"Part o' the same band o' mercenaries, we were… Hehe. 'Course I never asked what 'e was 'afore then."

"He became a sellsword…?" Berg whispered that with slight venom. It seemed so disgusting to him, that Erhardt not only was a true traitor, he also was just a money-grubbing swordsman in the end, no better than these maggot brigands.

"You seem t' have quite a passion fer the man, eh?" Gaston says with slight amused interest. He rubs his unshaven chin as he watches the other man carefully.

"…Where is he now," Berg ignores his quibbling.

"Damned if I know."

Berg takes a step menacingly towards the bars of the cell.

"Hang me, I really dun know," Gaston sighs, arms raised in resignation, "After our merry band was broken up, we all went our separate ways. Haven't a clue if he's still on this terra even."

Berg gnashes his teeth a bit in silence, and his fist clenches beside him.

"… There's that fire again."

Berg looks to the brigand. Gaston points at him.

"Yer eyes were like a dead fish 'til y' saw the sword and mention o' Erhardt," The brigand leader says astutely, "The man means somethin' an awful lot to ya."

"…" Berg does not affirm nor deny his statements.

"Wait… Wait…!" Gaston wheezes suddenly with laughter and clutches at his wounds, "Ugh- oh boy… ow…"

"… What's so funny," Berg says tersely, unamused.

"Hehe… I thought it was weird but… no it couldn't be… your sword and everythin' … The Unbending Blade of Hornburg, Olberic Eisenburg…"

The title and name, even off the tongue of a brigand, held an incredible power. Olberic felt himself shiver slightly. He knew why but did not want to acknowledge the sensation.

"You died though… back in the war, when Hornburg fell…" Gaston chuckles, "A legend... Erhardt spoke of ye... from time to time..."

"… I am no longer that person," Berg closes his eyes, "If that is all you can tell me-"

"No longer eh? If only it were so easy t' shed one's past like snakeskin," Gaston scoffs, "Nay, I'd say Olberic's still up and itchin' fer a fight with the Burnin' Blade o' Erhardt. 'E's only dead so long as e's all locked up behind a hedge knight guise, playin' mercenary!"

"Silence," Berg growls, "You and your men have committed many crimes against the people of Cobbleston and-"

"And what? Hang me, sure, but we had t' eat didn't we? The gods played a joke and din't bless us with none wits t' perform the honest work," Gaston leers from behind the bars, "It's not a life chosen always, t' be looked down upon like the dirt o' society."

"That may be so. But you still need to pay. And maybe… After you have, you can be hired by towns in need of your sword arm," Berg says with a slight distaste, "If you don't get executed first."

"Hehe… What about you, eh? Lemme tell you…" Gaston leans in now, "I may not know where Erhardt be, but there's a man, Gustav, who might. 'E's travelin' a bit after our group went, a champion takin' names if ye will… But last I heard, 'e might be up near the Cliftlands area."

"… Surely you don't think I'm such a fool to fall for such half-baked lies," Berg says as he turns to go, "You won't save your skin that way."

"Lies? Haven't told a single one in this cell," Gaston lets out a laugh, "It's just whatever ye wants t' believe. Does the great Olberic Eisenburg not want to bare his fangs once more in pursuit of his old enemy?"

Berg almost paused in step as he moved to exit. Nonetheless, he tears himself from the conversation and walks out the halls of the gaol. Gaston's words continued even as he walked.

"A dead fish y' were until his name was said! Makes me mighty curious what happened betwixt ye both..."

He tunes the bandit out as he exits the gaols. The thoughts were suddenly paused. Now, there was only two words on his mind.

Erhardt, Gustav. Erhardt, Gustav. Erhardt, Gustav…

…

In the inn, Primrose lay in bed, passed out. Therion lay beside her.

The two desperately needed rest after the strikes to the head. But their minds were too restless after the battle, even after Alfyn finished treating their wounds. So Alfyn had the brilliant idea of steeping some sleepweed in the water he offered them. That sent them straight to dreamland and he made sure they were both able to fit on the bed. It was better for the head to rest on something soft after being nearly cracked open like a nut.

The apothecary slaps his hands together a bit before looking a bit transfixed at the dried blood on his fingers. He could still vividly recall the sensation of the warmth in the body and the cold pervading it when he couldn't save…

He clenches his hands and shakes his head. Taking a whiff of his sleeve, he makes a face. He inquires with Elias at the inn desk about the baths and is directed to the communal one in the back. It is empty like when Prim used it, but the water is warm and already drawn.

Grateful, Alfyn undresses and winces halfway as he goes to lift his shirt. The bruise from the viper is still there. Gaston and his men's rough treatment was not helping it heal. Battle scars from the road, he fancied.

This time though… exactly what had he done?

Quietly, he puts down his clothes and satchel. He sinks into the tub with a slightly perturbed expression on his face. The water felt nice after days in the desert, in the mountains, and with human bloodshed. He rubs out the blood on his body and lets down his ponytail to wash his hair. He looks to see his clothes still dirtied. Those will need to be cleaned too.

"Haha, sorry Zeph…" He says to no one in particular, "I don't have any soap…"

It felt good to laugh a little, even if it wasn't real. But that didn't stop the question from resurfacing in his mind. What had he done?

He'd helped Berg rescue Noelle, Philip, and the other villagers. Did he really though? He kind of froze up seeing Therion's head bashed in, or Berg collapse, or Sadiq get hacked to pieces…

In the end, he did the only thing he really knew how. He healed. He made sure the brigands didn't die, in particular Gaston, and he made sure those with concussions got proper treatment.

Then why did he still feel so empty and useless, like he hadn't made a difference?

Sadiq.

It was the same as with Fiona. He couldn't save them. This time it was even worse, because Sadiq was _right there_. He was right in front of him and he could only watch as his life faded away and listen to his final words.

"Dammit…" Alfyn splashes some water on his face. The drops that rolled down his cheeks and dripped off his nose and chin were mixed with his tears as they dropped back into his reflection in the bathwater.

_All it takes is one to slip through your fingers, and suddenly the world looks like it's falling down._

That's probably what Gertas would say to scold him. He half-chuckles again and gets the grit out of his scalp.

_Misery was a constant companion to apothecaries_. The burden of saving life could crush one's spirit. It was already hard enough financially. But losing in the classic battle of life and death … chips away at the point of the adventure to begin with. He can't complain though. After all, his hero certainly didn't, even when surrounded by the adversity of the illness. The memory of his role model cheered him up a little and he resumes vigorously washing.

After he washed himself, he proceeded to wash his clothes. Then, realizing his mistake, he sighs and slaps on his wet, but cleaned, shirt and trousers. He goes back inside, slinging his satchel back over his shoulder.

"Hey, Elias, know any good place for me to dry my clothes?"

"Oh, just outside is the fence post you can use. We're also nice and high up so breezes'll blow by often. Watch out that you don't lose anything in the wind!"

Alfyn chuckles and thanks him before stepping out. He plops his wet garments on top of the fence and lifts his arms a bit so the underside of the shirt could dry a bit too. It was quiet as people were probably preparing for the feast that would occur tonight. He smiles a bit and stretches some more as he waits for the air to do its drying job.

"Alfyn."

The apothecary turns at the familiar voice. He sees that weary, scarred face.

"Oh, howdy, Berg…!" Alfyn smiles, then quickly looks worried, "Eh- why ain'tcha in bed? Yer head got knocked around an' y' sound like y' might keel over from that fight! Even Therion and Prim're-"

"Thank you for the concern, lad," Berg wearily chuckles, "I just wanted to thank you for what you did. Those brigands are now in the gaols where they will face their crimes rightfully."

"Ehe, don't sweat it! 'Course if it weren't fer…" Alfyn falters in his sentence.

"Hm? What is wrong?"

"… Can I be honest with ya, Berg?" Alfyn puts his hands on his hips and looks to the ground slightly, sighing.

"Why, of course," The question surprised him.

"You gotta…" Alfyn looks up at the mercenary, "I want you to apologize to Prim."

Berg raises an eyebrow with skepticism, "… Why?"

"Cuz… Because it wasn't right of ya t' say all those things about her… 'specially since they ain't true."

"...What?" Berg frowns slightly, "How can you say that so surely after we witnessed that display of dark magic…"

"Prim isn't as cold as y' said. An' ya didn't exactly hafta go on callin' her names… She hasn't had it easy, her or Therion," Alfyn sighs, "But they're good people. She used that po'er t' protect us."

"That doesn't … always justify taking another person's will away, lad."

"... Well, she helped out y'know. Even after you two fought, she still wanted t' come along an' save the hostages. Ain't that meanin' she does care fer people?" Alfyn steps up to Berg, feeling a bit more confident in his words.

Berg pauses, then opens his mouth to speak. Just then, the both of their bellies growl ravenously. With the attacks in the morning and the rescue mission taking well into the afternoon, they had barely eaten anything. The gruel from breakfast seemed so many days ago.

"D'aw... it ain't feast time yet, hehe..."

"... Let's discuss further over some small morsels maybe..." Berg sighs.

…

Alfyn didn't expect to be invited into Berg's house. It was a small abode located at the north edge of town, but at a lower flight of stairs than the inn. In a way, it reminded him of his own home back in Clearbrook. Everything was very bare, with nothing superfluous. Just a bed, a table, and a chair for furniture. A simple fireplace has been neatly upkept, so the hearth isn't dirty with ashes. Bundles of firewood lean on the pilasters. There aren't any decorations on the mantle; no pictures, nothing. A jumble of boxes is stacked in the room corner. Alfyn sees a single wooden plate, an old cracked clay pitcher, a candle, and what look like makeshift weights as well as wooden swords and a shield.

Hanging on the wall is one short sword and another empty holster for a longer weapon. Berg takes off his belt and blade, hanging that across the holder. He also takes off his leather armor, leaving just his cotton tunic and brown trousers.

"Please," Berg gestures at the one chair, "Make yourself comfortable. I apologize for the state of things. I never have many guests."

"Oh, no, that's fine!" Alfyn chuckles and sits, holding his wet clothes still, "It's a lot like my home back in Clearbrook actually, hehe!"

"Ah yes... you mentioned that town before."

"Yep, it's where I was born an' grew up!"

"I see…"

"You ever been t' the Riverlands, Berg?"

"Nay, I have not. Rarely can I say I ever left the Highlands. On occasion I had been to the Coastlands and Sunlands."

Berg pulls out two cups and an extra plate from the crates and pours them both water from the pitcher. Alfyn takes the cup gratefully and thirstily downs it.

"I'm afraid I have only some bread to offer you with jam. I hadn't gotten butter for a few days."

"That's fine, hehe. I'll eat anything right now!"

Berg nods and fetches the crusty loaf from a sack in his food crate. With a kitchen knife, he cuts four slices and plates two for Alfyn and two for himself. The jar of jam is placed on the table with a wooden spoon. Berg himself sits on the edge of a crate, as Alfyn occupies the only chair. He eats his plain while Alfyn happily munches on his with the jam spread.

"Is this local jam? It tastes great!"

"Mm. Yes. Lila made it," Berg says quietly between bites, "She picks the berries from some bushes that grow on more temperate parts of the Highlands."

"I can relate. It's dangerous work though, gatherin' materials with more monsters around every day..."

"Indeed. But with less bandits, it might be a little easier."

"You've looked over this town for a while, haven'tcha, Berg?" Alfyn smiles a little.

"It's been eight years," Berg sips his water, "I suppose it has been a... considerable stay."

"I mean, y' know all the folks an' they seem t' love ya an' all! Philip really admires ya... Is there anywhere else ya'd rather be?"

"... I suppose not," A small smile sneaks onto Berg's face.

"Hehe... I was a bit of a rascal that took the whole town t' raise," Alfyn chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, "But I love all those guys. Wouldn't trade 'em fer nothin'."

"Mm..." Berg only nods in thought. In his head, he saw his old platoon of men. But the image slowly changed, and he saw the people of Cobbleston instead.

"But ya know," Alfyn looks up, "Even without a place like that to return to... Therion and Prim've helped out a lotta people."

Berg pauses before taking another bite silently.

"Therion... He ain't got a home really t' return to. Livin' on the streets is all 'e knows."

"..."

"An' Prim," Alfyn continues, "Ya called Prim like a slaver... well, she was held in a brothel fer ten years in Sunshade. They don't really treat 'em well down there... leadin' 'em like animals with ropes 'round the neck an' all..."

The apothecary shuddered slightly at the memory.

"...But she's still got a good heart 'spite all that. I don't know really what her magic is or anythin'... but even though ya said all those things about 'er, she still helped, didn't she? Hells, I dunno if we'd be eaten t'gether if she weren't there!"

"..."

"I'm sure she didn't ask fer the power t' control others... But I got a feelin' she hadn't a choice in that kinda dangerous business..." Alfyn ruffles his dirty blonde locks pensively, "What 'm tryin' t' say is … Ya really hurt her. So ya oughta apologize."

"...Alright, alright, lad," Berg sighs, "You have made your point heard. I will see the vexing woman and apologize the next time I see her..."

"Great! Cuz I'd hate fer bad blood t' keep! We oughta be makin' friends as we go, not enemies!"

"Hm. You are heading to Rippletide next, correct?"

"Yep!"

It was a port city in the Coastlands. More likely than not, Berg was thinking about catching a boat to the Cliftlands to find Gustav... But what to tell the townspeople of his departure?

"... Say, you alright, Berg?" Alfyn tries peering at the man's face a little, "Ya seem a bit... distracted. Izzit yer head hurtin'?"

"... Nay..." Berg rubs his forehead a little, "I suppose I am merely tired. There is still much to be done... and I fear I must soon leave Cobbleston."

"Huh?" Alfyn's eyebrows arch upward, "W-why?"

"I must find a certain person. Until now, I had no thought that they were still alive. But now that I know they are out there in the world still... I will search for them."

"... Was it that, uh... Ertart guy you mentioned?"

"Erhardt. And… Yes."

"Ohh... Say, why don'tcha come with us, if it's on your way? Like ya said, 's better t' travel in groups nowadays."

He hadn't been expecting such a quick invitation. Alfyn was an unnaturally kind person, even compared to everyone in Cobbleston.

"Indeed..."

"All the more reason y' oughta make up with Prim, hehe!"

This time, Berg chuckled a little as well.

…

The tavern has an abutting hall attached to it. Normally, it would hold liquors and kegs of fermenting beer, as well as sausages and other cured meats. For the grand occasion, these things were all moved so the entire building could be used to its fullest capacity. All drinks were put on tap and you could have as much as you wanted. In the kitchen, many of the cooks from around the village were hustling to deliver on their food. There were no designated waiters. People help out with carrying food to their tables and for others who were still injured. It was nowhere as giddy as Clearbrook's tavern, but there was still a somber happiness in the ambience.

"I knew that 'buying drinks' thing was bullshit…" Therion grumbles as they enter, "It's all free."

He had surprisingly awoken before Primrose. He did not appreciate Alfyn's thoughtfulness in placing them both in the same bed.

"Haha, cheer up, Therion! It's a party!" Alfyn chuckles.

The thief irritably sighs and scratches a little at the bandages on his head. Alfyn quickly puts an end to that by swatting down his hands.

"It's itchy…"

"It's healing, Therion!"

Primrose has bandages on her throat and parts of her body that her skimpy dress does not cover. There is also a patch of gauze on her face. Her eyes are a bit dull as she looks about the merry beer hall.

"…" Alfyn puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looks to him with a weak smile in response.

Noelle practically runs up to them.

"Hey, you came!"

"Hehe, wouldn't miss it!" Alfyn chuckles.

"Come on, I save you guys a table!" She leads them to a nicely sized table with stools, "Everyone's been whispering here and there about you guys, you know, how you helped Berg and all!"

"Aw shucks… We-"

"It'd be nice to get paid for it," Therion butts in, bored.

Alfyn elbows him a little, but not in a recovering area. It shuts the thief up regardless. But Noelle just laughs.

"Haha, well I can pay you in pretzels, grog, and sausage!" She grins and goes off to get them food and drink.

"Geez, Therion…!" Alfyn says, exasperated, after Noelle is out of earshot.

"What?"

"That was just rude!" Alfyn balks a bit at the thief's bluntness, "She's jus' got back after bein' kidnapped!"

"I almost got my head punched in, remember?" Therion rolls his eyes.

Alfyn sighs and is about to object when foaming mugs of beer are plunked down before them, along with a platter brimming with pretzel buns, sausage, cheeses, and fruits. The party looks up to see Noelle is not alone. There is a whiskered, older gentleman next to her. He was unfamiliar.

"Dad, this is Alfyn and his friends!"

"O-Oh! You're Fiona's father…!" Alfyn fumbles a little to stand from his seat.

"Hahaha, no need to kowtow or anything!" The old man chuckles, "I jus' wanted t' thank ya fer helping get Noelle back. Terrible affair, the whole thing. Thank the gods you were able to handle it!"

"Ehehe," Alfyn chuckles, rubbing the back of his head, "Aw shucks…"

"Alfyn's come all the way from the Riverlands, dad! He's like my age and he's off walking the continent already!"

"Now don't you start!" The old man wags a finger in her face, "You and yer silly ideas in the great big world!"

Noelle pouts. Her father gives her a playful pinch on the cheek before waving to the party and going back to his own table.

"It was nice meeting all of y'all. Thanks to you again."

"Pleasure," Prim says tersely. The facts she spoke at all surprised the other two, particularly Alfyn, who was about to say similar.

"So! I'll leave you guys to dig in!" Noelle huffs a bit and stomps off.

Alfyn chuckles a bit, picking up a bun, "Hehe… Well this is a nice event…"

"… hm," Therion is emotionless as he rips into a wurst, "It's the minimum."

"It's a bit like when we left Clearbrook, right?" Alfyn sips his beer, "Had a big party then too."

"Yeah, yeah…" Therion waves a hand dismissively, "Just glad we're leavin' tomorrow."

"Oh yeah…" Alfyn leans in, "What about Sadi's … burial?"

"…"

"…"

"… Prim, I know you wanna bury 'im in the Sunlands right…"

"… Yes."

"Oh great," Therion groans, "Well, have fun with that. I'm not going back to that stinking desert anytime soon."

"Therion!" Alfyn sighs.

"…I'll find a way somehow…" Prim bites her lower lip. She really could not afford any more delays as it was. But this was… It felt like she had to do _something_.

The local bard strikes up a merry, yet mellow tune to go with the dinner. The watch, which was so somber when the party first arrived, seemed relaxed for once. Some who were lucky enough to be able, stood and did a small Highland jig with their partners. Alfyn sees Colton sitting with Lila and can't help but smile a little.

Therion eyes the dancer a little. It was weird seeing her now so still and not even as aloof as she usually was. Normally, she'd be flaunting her moves about them and goading him to dance maybe.

When her lifeless eyes look up a bit, he averts his own. She stands and walks out of the tavern. Some heads watch as the dancer goes, since she still sticks out like a sore thumb. Alfyn makes a small move to go after her, but the thief holds him back.

"Buh-" Alfyn looks to Therion, who merely shakes his head. The apothecary sits down, a bit glummer now.

"She knew him first," Therion sighs, drinking his beer.

"Yeah… it's gotta be harder…" Alfyn sighs and takes a bite of sausage, "Maybe I shoulda thought t' have 'im wait a bit…"

"Hm? Who?" Therion quirks an eyebrow.

"Oh, Berg. I told 'im t' go and make up with Prim after the whole thing."

"… You really like to meddle, huh…" Therion sighs.

…

Berg saw the dancer leave the hall. But he couldn't approach her just yet. The headman, Phillip, and Phillip's mother occupied seats at his table. And he needed to tell them about his departure tonight. It was best during a happy event like this.

"… good fortune, no?"

"Aye, indeed. We are so very lucky for the brave watch. All trained up by Berg," The headman chuckles.

"Phillip!" The woman looks to her son stuffing a pretzel in his mouth, "Manners! Ye could choke!"

Berg smiles a little. He could not delay it any longer. He looks to the headman solemnly.

"Headman, I would like to make a formal announcement."

"Hm? Well that's … alright, let's hear it," The headman stands, scraping his seat against the floor loudly, "Ahem! May I have all your attention!"

His voice, naturally loud, was one of the things that made him a good headman. All heads in the room turned to face him after settling down.

"Thank you," He nods and gestures to Berg, "Cobbleston's finest combat instructor has some words to say."

Berg stands now. He couldn't be nervous now. With a deep breath, he quickly cuts through the mess of thoughts in his head of what to say.

"I will be leaving Cobbleston."

The hall's silence only increases as dissonant whispers die down as well. Some people stare, and even the headman had not expected that. Philip is the first to speak up, a little shrill.

"W-What do you mean, sir?"

Other voices raise their concerns following the boy.

"Y-yeah..."

"Sir Berg, you're leaving?"

Berg nods grimly, "You have all shown me such kindness in my stay here. I am forever in all your debts."

"What?"

"But why?"

"There is... something I discovered... I had left undone in my past from 'fore I stepped foot here," He sighs, "I … I will do what I must."

Many people in the room seemed unsatisfied. They wanted to ask more. But none had the real courage. Alfyn and Therion are watching quietly. Alfyn would have spoken up maybe if Therion hadn't shushed him multiple times. This was a thing involving the townspeople, not them as outsiders.

"... It is we who are in your debt," The headman says solemnly, standing with a scrape of his chair, "You have delivered Cobbleston from many dangers, and equipped us with the tools we need to stand on our own feet."

Berg was a little speechless. He looks to the headman with eyes of respect, not having expected such a gracious statement. Others in the room seem to arrive at the same conclusion.

"You will always have a home here, no matter how far your quest may take you," The headman smiles warmly, crinkling the skin around his aged eyes, "When you are finished with whatever business have you, why not come back and visit us? We'll keep your house tidy for your return."

"… I will," Berg nods, "Thank you."

"We'll never forget what you've taught us!" One watchman calls out.

"If we see any more troublemakers, we'll give their rears a lickin' in your name!" Says another.

Then many of the watch began to stand and salute him like they would after one of their training sessions. Berg felt the sickly warmth in his head move and spread throughout his chest. He would not cry, however. He merely bows his head slightly in gratitude.

Philip looks around at the adults in the room with his mouth a little aghast. His mother seemed to look at him worriedly as he hung his head a little. Then he sudden salutes as well, with a resolute, yet teary look in his eyes. At the top of his lungs, he shouts.

"I'll keep training until you return! And then… I'll be worthy enough that… even against you…!"

The boy's voice cracks in several places and his tears and snot leak down his face as his salute trembles. The sight moves several other onlookers, who try to restrain their own emotion. Berg felt the hard tug at his heartstrings. He found himself walking to Philip, who just looks up at him with a trembling lower lip. With a soft smile, Berg ruffles the boy's head. His mind was made up.

"… Aye, lad. I'll get stronger as well. And we will see each other again."

"Y… You better not forget!" The boy now goes to wipe his face in futility as his tough façade breaks, "Y-You keep your word, sir!"

"Yeah!"

"Tell 'im, Philip!"

Berg can't help but chuckle at the enthusiasm. Over at the outsider's table, Alfyn smiles dumbly, watching the scene.

"Hehe… it really gives ya a warm an' fuzzy feelin', don't it?"

Therion merely rolls his eyes, "This is the stuff for saps like you."

"… Say, Prim's been gone a bit…"

"She'll be fine," Therion mutters, drink in hand.

Across the room, Berg straightens and makes eye contact with the apothecary. The headman laughs a little and gestures to the bard.

"Come now, let's make this a going-away party as well… to celebrate all that Berg has done! No more dour faces! Clean those tears lad, tis a celebration!"

The bard smiles shyly and resumes playing, strumming up a rather chipper tune. The headman raises his goblet, and others follow in suit to raise a toast.

"To your health, Berg! May you find what it is you seek."

"Hear, hear!"

"Thanks for all you've done! We'll be alright, so don't you sweat it!"

"Aye!"

"Cheers!"

The merriment resumes. At first, people gathered to bid Berg a fair trip, and promised him lots of goodies for the road once daybreak came. When enough admirers had their fill and he had some time, Berg slipped out of the hall in search of the dancer when he would not be missed.

…

Out in the billowing night wind, Prim stood over one of the higher points in Cobbleston, looking out over the town. She leans on the low stone wall and takes out something from the folds of her dress. It looks like a bundle of metal rods at first glance. Upon a closer look, one can see it is actually Sadiq's spear.

It is not an uncommon quality of Sunland weapons. The daggers are commonly colorful yet hiding edges that tore straight into tendons. Some blades were hollow to increase their speed, and it also allowed them to be filled with things like poison. Sunlanders liked their weapons exotic, yet still practical. Sadiq's spear was no different, being collapsible, yet lacking any weakness to bend and buckle. He had it with him all this time as he watched over the walls of Sunshade…

Prim unfolds the spear. She grasps it with both hands, feeling its weight a little before planting it beside her. Then she seems almost to lean on it a little as she gazed out towards the surrounding Highland mountains. The cold did not bother her. The loneliness did. In the wind, her dress flapped. It still was red as blood despite the wear and tear of their journey, with all the battles to this point. She stood like a lone crimson flag over most of the town.

There was a small sound of movement behind her. It was not hidden with any intent. The steps were from a heavier person. She could smell the musk. Though she didn't sense ill intent, she still allowed her paranoia to sweep her away. When the next step came just that much closer, her dagger was in her hand and she whirled to point it at whoever it was.

Berg blocks her strike with quick reflexes, using his metal brassard as a guard against her weapon. There is a slight _chink_ sound as the dagger fails to pierce the metal and is deflected.

"...!" Primrose conceals her surprise well and withdraws herself hastily with a sigh, "Oh... it's you..."

"... My apologies if I startled you," He says, lowering his guard.

"... So, what do you want?" She turns away from him, "... We'll be getting out of your precious village soon enough, o'righteous knight … Or did you come to throw me out by force?"

"... Nay," He sighs, "I came to apologize. My words were uncouth and … unrefined. I spoke out of turn in anger, not knowing the circumstances of your actions."

She doesn't answer.

"While I can never truly condone your practice... I understand your necessity behind it. A little."

"Oh?" She hides the surprise in her voice well, "Do you now?"

"Yes. Sir Alfyn divulged of it to me, your history. But please do not hold him in ill. It was at my behest."

"That silly boy..." She mutters, feeling exposed. Knowing Alfyn had stood up for her though also somehow spread some warmth through her body. But she resists a smile.

"That being said... Even as I feel revulsion for your act... Your aid was invaluable through this trial," He tries to keep his voice level and ward off any awkwardness, "For that I never properly thanked you. So, I do so now. You have my thanks."

"... Think nothing of it."

"... I think you should also know... that I will be accompanying your party on your departure from the Highlands."

"... I see," Alfyn must have invited him. She says nothing more but her lips purse in displeasure. Not that she faces him.

But then, there was an uncomfortable silence between them as they stood there in the night air. She started to wonder why he was still standing behind her.

"... Don't you have a party in your honor to return to, hero?" She says a little icily.

"…You are a guest as well."

"I'm an outsider."

"I am not from here either. The people of this town are kinder… than I."

Another bout of silence. He fumbled through his mind for an icebreaker.

"… Some of my men spoke of a dancer in red a night or so ago, before the brigands struck."

Prim maintains her quiet.

"They said how unlucky I was to have been on patrol that night that I missed it. It was… quite a spectacle apparently…"

Berg folds his arms a little, like he doesn't know what else to do with them. He hoped his words were not too slow despite his hesitations.

"…Won't you come dance again?"

"…"

There is nothing but the wind for a few long seconds. Berg is about to accept it as refusal until the dancer's free hand raises so he can see her index and thumb fingers rubbing together. He scoffs a little before laughing.

"Here is your first fee then…" He flicks her a leaf, which she catches. She faces him with an exasperated, somewhat wry smile. Without another word, she goes to walk back to the tavern. He follows beside her, walking through the streets.

"… That spear…"

The dancer doesn't say anything.

"… I am sorry for you and your party's loss. He seemed like a good man."

"He was… is."

"Might I ask why you put him under your thrall-"

Her pace quickens at the question. Ah, a stupid question. He decides it's not worth it to dig up the hatchet again and strides to follow until they are about the same gait again. She slows to stop, allowing him to pick his words carefully.

"… My apologies. I spoke out of turn."

"… Do you know how to use a spear?"

The question surprised him a little, "…Well, yes. I am trained in the spear as well as the sword…"

"Good," She suddenly thrusts the weapon out to him like an offer, "If we are going to travel together… then you will… have more use of this than I."

He blinks, "But… this is…"

"Sadiq is no longer with us. I'd rather not have to pawn this off… It is better…" She murmurs, looking to the side a little, "That it finds a new use in able hands."

After a small moment of silence, he takes the weapon gently from her hand, which shook a little, rattling her bracelets. The tremor slips to her shoulders a bit and she does not look at him as she drew back. He saw her vulnerability lain before him, shielded by the gesture only.

"…Thank you."

He took a moment to look at the weapon in his hand. It was lighter than the polearms he used back in his days in Hornburg. But there was still a feeling of weight nonetheless… He glances at her and his throat seizes.

"…I … I was wrong to… say human wellbeing had no meaning to you…" Berg says a little with difficulty as he looks down at the weapon, "… He protected you like a shield… but you… did not relish it, did you…"

He blinks slowly and his hand closes around the weapon's area of grip. It felt worn and tested by battle.

"You see people for who they are in earnest."

"…"

"It could not… have been easy… seeing him…"

"… Of course not…"

"He was a fine warrior. I can see it in this weapon…" He nods slightly, "I will try to do justice to his skill."

"… Good."

Her steps resumed to the tavern after the brusque conversation. He follows in silence. By the time they arrived back in the warm light of the hall, her shudders stopped. Some people raised their mugs to the two of them. On her face was a brilliant smile, and she began to dance.

Only the thief saw the slightest hint of a grimace.

…

The day of their departure, the town had gathered to see Berg and company off. The party stood by the exit of Cobbleston, rested as well as could be after a fight and party. An ass pulling a cart loaded with some crates brays next to them. Prim's gaze is fixed on a wrapped bundle behind the crates. Alfyn puts a hand softly on her shoulder but she does not respond. The cart driver is talking to Berg.

"… by a mound of sand. Supposedly just outside the Sunshade Catacombs."

"Aye, I see," The driver nods, "I'll try me best t' get the man t' his restin' place fer ya, Berg."

"Thank you," Berg nods.

He'd changed into his old clothes now for the journey. No longer in leather armor, he was sporting his old cobalt and black tunic, with his metal bracers and spaulders, as well as the brassard of his old regimen. It was old and scuffed so that reading the original Hornburg writing on the metal would be a feat in and of itself. But he remembered what it meant, and the honor it bore onto him. How he had not felt such since the start of the last war. It was amazing what emotion simple clothing could elicit in the old warhorse.

There was no way they were going to make such a huge trip back to Sunshade. Prim and the others would have to settle for letting someone cart Sadiq's body back to find Yusufa's grave so he could be buried next to her. The dancer did not trust anyone to do the task, but even she knew she had to be realistic in the face of her goal.

"Alfyn! Take this…" Noelle hands Alfyn a parcel wrapped in paper, "It's nothing much, just something for the road…"

"Gee, thanks, Noelle!" Alfyn smiles.

Noell blushes and blurts, "Please come back anytime! I'd love to hear your stories from the road!"

Some onlookers in the crowd laugh a bit and make some small talk about Noelle. Alfyn merely nods.

"Sure! We'll meet again when I pass by."

"Are you ready then?" The headman approaches, "I must say my old heart does ache with this parting… You shall be missed, Berg."

"Aye, but tis not a farewell forever."

"Then pray we shall your business shall be swift so you may return safely to us."

Before Berg could respond, a little ball of energy comes running right at him, wooden sword raised. He fends it off with his burly arm, though the strike did sting.

"Phillip!" The boy's mother gasps, "Where have you been!? And why are you-"

"It's alright!" Berg declares and smiles at the little surprise attacker, "That was a good blow. You are getting stronger."

He rubs the boy's head. Phillip bites his lip, "You… will definitely remember your promise, right?"

"…Aye lad."

The boy then just hugs his waist. Some people go "aww" at the display. Therion taps his wrapped bangle impatiently.

"Take care, all of you."

Waving, Berg and his new companions start out of the village, with the cart right alongside them. Eventually, Cobbleston vanishes from view as they descend to a lower elevation.

"Gee that was a nice town…" Alfyn chuckles, pocketing his gifts. Noelle hadn't been the only one who gave him a present. Some of the soldiers he treated and other townspeople also showered him in thank-yous and gifts. He had refused monetary presents.

"We can go as far as the crossroads," Berg says, "But there we must head north. And Orwell will take the goods to the Sunlands."

Prim says nothing.

Eventually they make it to the signpost indicating the crossroad. Orwell directs the cart towards the southern path. Berg looks to the others.

"Have you said your goodbyes?"

Therion doesn't answer, merely scoffing. Alfyn nods, answering for the thief and dancer, who remains silent. She only watches as Orwell begins to drive away after reassuring them of his care.

"… I should tell ya, Prim," Alfyn says in a low voice as the cart gets smaller and smaller, "What Sadi told me… his last words…"

Prim trembles a bit but nods. Therion looks back at the two of them lagging behind as Berg forges ahead towards the north Highlands first. Alfyn leans in a little, but not too close, and gently relays the message.

"He wants you to know… he's very happy you met Yusufa."

Primrose sucks in a breath and covers her mouth with a hand. The emotions wracked her such that she could barely walk in a moment. Slowly, her mask slipped a crack, and a few tears fell, sliding down her cheeks. Alfyn readies to steady her if she wavered. The thief looks away. A wind blows past them and she looks toward where it goes. Southward. To that cart winding its way down the mountain. Down the mountain to the sands. The sands where she met Yusufa and Sadiq…

"Are you lot coming?" Berg calls from the front.

"Ah- y-yeah!" Alfyn replies. He looks to the dancer, "…You okay, Prim…?"

Crisply, her lips move as the few tears shed slip from her chin. She nods silently.

"_Thank you… for everything."_

Then, they continued onward.


	15. Chapter 15: A Visitor In the Snow

A tale is not only of one. It is spun of many, reflected in many facets like a mirror.

Whilst the four of our travelers made their way onward towards their destination, let us turn our lens towards another side of the tale unwinding. A chronicle beginning in the Frostlands...

* * *

"May the Sacred Flame ever guide your path…"

She murmurs the same words over and over again, for each of the candles she lights ever so carefully. Each of these lights represent that which will illuminate the path for one lost. It will guide them to the rest they deserve, and the living hope them to achieve.

Or something like that.

They sit on their hallowed place, illuminating the windowsill and spilling out onto the floor in their own corner here. Each one is a special wish left by a relation, whether by blood or other. Outside, the snow piles quietly in the weak daylight.

"Fili!" Lianna half runs up to the cleric. Several of the other church sisters turn to look at her scoldingly, so she slows down and lowers her voice, "I mean, ahem, may the light bless you on this fine day, sister Ophilia."

She crosses her hands over her chest in prayer. Ophilia smiles and returns the gesture. The two hold their formal poses until the eyes avert. Then the girls giggle like little children with a shared secret and loosen.

"Ahahahaha… Oh, this never gets old…"

"Mm. I'm almost done here…" Ophilia comes to the last of the candles, "Do we have the blankets and food ready?"

"Yep! Old sister Patricia has the mule loaded. It's simply not safe these days, living out of the city walls…" Lianna sighs and adds, "But some people can't put aside their pride to move on in…"

"Richard's had that house forever, Anna. You know he probably has too many memories to just pull up stakes and move."

"I suppose…" Lianna huffs slightly. She blows a tuft of hair out of her face and tosses her braid over her shoulder, "It's just a bit of a trip you know?"

"It's no bother really. I rather like going out every now and then. He also helps the travelers and destitute. Otherwise, they'd all freeze or be eaten by the ice lizards out there…" Ophilia straightens, lighting the last candle.

"I know, I know, Fili…" Lianna sighs, "I just hate to be away sometimes."

"Says the one going on the Kindling pilgrimage across the entire continent?" Ophilia turns and smiles knowingly to her sister.

"That's different…!" Lianna folds her arms defensively, muttering slightly, "I mean, an event of that importance…"

"Come now, his Excellency has always taught us that all works in the name of the Sacred Flame are equally important, whether it's a coin in a beggar's cup or blessing a whole city."

"I meant that… well, you know father has had this tickle in his throat for a while now…!"

"He never wants us to worry, does he? Last time, he said it was because he had stayed out a bit too long in the chill. This time it's his age."

"You know how I fret for his health so, Fili."

"I know. As do I," Ophilia places a gentle hand on Lianna's shoulder, "That's why, to me, you are the bravest person in this whole cathedral."

Lianna blushes slightly and looks away, "Pfft… it's nothing, really…"

"Come on then," Ophilia draws her insulated cape about herself, "We should be off to the houses, lest another storm blindside us like the last time…"

"Don't even try to scare me, Phili… I thought we'd be eaten by bears for sure!" Lianna sighs loudly, exasperated in her recounting of the event, "I must say that those who persist in living out in the wilds … certainly have admirable gusto."

"That they do."

They leave the corner of memorial flames and walk slowly past the massive cathedral halls of ivory columns and stone walls. The architecture is gothic, with flying buttresses and that beautiful stain glass in the main basilica where service is being held for midday goers. Motifs of the sacred flame decorate the arches and great old black iron chandeliers keep the place lit with blazing light.

The two venture out to the gates of the cathedral, where the snow falling is so slow it may as well be still in the air. Such is the beauty of Flamesgrace. The small flakes spin slowly in their descent, making like glitter in their air. Bundled in their heavy cloaks and garb, the two are as warm as can be. Outside, a small, beat-up wagon awaits, drawn by the shaggy old mule, Bastion. Patricia, in her thick robe, stands by with the reins. She looks to the girls with a slightly stern eye and gruff voice after a brief pose of greeting prayer.

"Ready then, girls?"

"Hello, Bastion, how are you today…" Ophilia strokes the snout of the beast gently and slips it some oats, "Yes, sister Patricia."

The beast snorts and gives a low grunt of appreciation, peering at her through the shaggy hair covering most of its body. Lianna and her climb onto the seat. Patricia hands Lianna the reins.

"Remember, keep to the posts, unless they be too buried in the snows… Stray not from the flames light," The old woman says sternly, "You caused the archbishop quite some grief last time."

"W-well, we can't control the weather now, can we?" Lianna chuckles, "Tell father to take care of himself if he starts worrying. We won't make the same mistake twice!"

"Yes, we bought a spare blanket this time," Ophilia adds.

Patricia sighs. The wagon slowly starts moving with its cargo in tow as Bastion chugs along and the two girls ride past the streets of Flamesgrace. People, bundled in thick wooly coats and garments wave and make the sign of prayer as they pass. The two return the gestures and giggle a bit as their ride thuds along the cobbled road repeatedly, but not enough to bounce anything big off.

"They should trust us more with supply runs," Ophilia breathes into her gloved hands, "We aren't children anymore."

"Patricia's just a worrywart. And I am almost positive father has been rigging the chores."

They giggle at their inside joke. As they near the town limits, they see a pair of men being helped out of the tavern. They holler like drunk men loudly, and many people turn away. Their clothes show them not being of the Frostlands. Perhaps nearer the Woodlands or Flatlands.

"We... we're the Ciaran! You... You people shou' be glad we wanna drink yer piss ale!"

"Eyy, yeah! 'Afore we came, we dun' felled a frost bear! Jus' the two o' us!"

They are escorted back to the inn by a stout third member, who avoids the glances of the townspeople.

"... How rude! Such language in public!" Ophilia gasps indignantly.

"Well, that's how drink bade men be," Lianna sighs, "Hopefully they will be more civil once sober... Or at least out of town. Did you buy that story at all for a minute? A frost bear!"

Ophilia nods slightly as they exit the city limits out to the tranquil snowdrifts outside Flamesgrace, "Beasts with the strength of twenty men! To think they can fell one with just three!"

"A load of cockamamie if liars told any!" Lianna snorts and looks out at the drifts, "T'will be dark soon, I believe. I do look forward to going a bit south for this pilgrimage, to where the sun shines more than just a few hours a day..."

"Mm, yes..." Ophilia keeps a wary look out at the snow as well, as monsters tend to hide there. In the distance, she spots movement. But it is gone quickly. Yet the feeling of eyes remains and lingers.

"First to Saintsbridge... Imagine it! A city built upon rivers! Unlike here, where the water is frozen solid nearly all year round!" Lianna chuckles, "And since it is quite an attraction, I'll bet there's lots of other things from around the realm, like clothes and food..."

"Ahaha, you sound so excited, Lianna."

"Well, a bit. It's both worrisome and exhilarating to think of you know? And the day is awful close. Just a few days away!"

"Yes..." Ophilia murmurs thoughtfully, looking about and not seeing anything. How her heart leaps for Lianna! Yet she cannot shake that she wishes she may also experience Orsterra like that…

Bastion pauses suddenly, halting their banter. Ahead, they can see the light from Richard's house along the path, past the fork to Northreach. The old shag mule snorts in the direction of the drifts and gives a menacing grunt.

"Bastion? What's wrong?" As the girls look, they see nothing out of the ordinary. The mule stares still, expectantly.

"...Yip, yip, old boy. Come on now..." Lianna lightly flicks the reins, urging the beast onward, "Fili, do you see anything?"

"No... Nor do I sense anything..." As a cleric, they learn not only to heal the wounds, but the very souls of people. Such requires a form of empathy that can grant them awareness of the suffering and minds of others. However, for beasts it is a much more complicated subject. There are powerful clerics able to sense not minds, but all life, including plants and animals. Ophilia is far from such development, however. She requires yet her staff as a focus, unlike accomplished clerics like Lianna, who need only their hands.

Bastion gives one final snort before continuing. They roll up to the front of Richard's house, which is a modest, snug, one-story building. The old curmudgeon lives alone here, after his wife died and his children moved away. Despite pleas from the townspeople, he remains outside Flamesgrace. Before the famed cathedral was built, he and his family performed hospitality for travelers. Now, though less necessary, he still helps those stranded in the snows who cannot reach the city.

The old man wears a bearskin parka and waves as the wagon approaches. He is usually very gruff and rude, but Ophilia found him to be a rather kind man under that crust. He ties Bastion to the anchor post as the girls dismount.

"Sorry about the wait!" Ophilia and her sister gather the baskets and blankets in their arms to greet the old man.

"Bah, were ya any slower, I could 'ave gone to Victor's Hollow and returned with supplies meself!"

"That stroke didn't stop you at all, did it, Richard?" Lianna sighs with a slight smile, "Any takers tonight?"

"Small twins. Near frozen from the Flatlands they said," The old man shakes his head, "Didya get the wicks I asked fer?"

"Yes, and candles. We also have some frozen tallow," Lianna replies, "And father made sure to send some extra food."

Richard nods and roughly opens his door for them. They feel the pillow of warm air invite them in. Inside, there is a roaring fire, and two young men, possibly not older than twenty, sitting asleep near the wall under a shared blanket. The girls take care to be quiet as they place down the deliveries and talk in low voices.

"The sick beds have been full these days too in the cathedral... lots of monster attacks..."

"Aye, they be getting bolder," The old man shuts the door, "But these two be goin' ter Northreach anyways. Offered me coin t' stay, but I wouldn't let 'em."

"Ehehe, I know you wouldn't," Ophilia smiles warmly.

"Now dontcha git all giggly on me like we both be the same fools, Ophilia. Still remember I do how ya near froze t' death tryna be helpful," The old man grumbles under his whiskers.

Ophilia chuckles a bit nervously and Lianna as well. Before his stroke and his hair turned wholly grey, Richard had caught the younger Ophilia lost in the snows on one night of a bad storm. She was nearly wholly frozen and set the cathedral off in a panic. It was Richard and his wife, Fina, who housed her until the storm broke. They gave her the warm water baths and took care to see to it that she didn't end up losing any toes from frostbite. She woke up about five days later, after her fever just broke, and blubbered about some merchant who had dropped a leaf as he left Flamesgrace that she had to return. She got quite an earful for that. And Richard still berates her for that to this day. That was the first time they met, and Ophilia recalls it with some fondness.

"Yes, you were quite worried for me, Richard... and Fina too..."

He grunts and gets to moving about some of the supplies and opens some of the crates. Ophilia glances at the old portrait on the mantle above the fireplace of his family when they were young. The parchment is old and yellowed now, but it is always there.

"... Thank ye fer always keepin' Fina's candle lit."

"Ah, of course. You knew about that?"

"Aye, she hath told me herself in me dreams."

Ophilia notes that quietly. The two twins stir and stare at the sisters and their patron.

"Oh, hello," Ophilia gives a smile to them, "Sorry, did we wake you?"

They shake their heads as they stare quietly.

"They ain't gorgons, boys. Jus' the local holy people of the Church of Flame," Richard takes out sticks of candles, "They're the reason y'can eat tonight."

"...Thank you," One of them says quietly.

"You're welcome... So! On your way to Northreach, huh? There's some mighty strong storms and monsters along the way... will you be alright?" Lianna looks to the other twin.

"Should be," They both look at each other and shrug, "We'll just avoid the main roads."

"Ah, but that's dangerous! That's where the monsters usually are..." Ophilia murmurs.

"We aren't helpless babes," One twin reveals a sheathed shortsword at his breast, "We'll be fine."

"Tea," Richard's gruff gesture thrusts a cup of tea at all the people in the room, "Best ye warm up 'fore headin' out 'gain."

"Mm, yes, thank you..." The two sisters sip appreciatively. Lianna burns her tongue a bit.

"Oww..." She sucks air in and fans her mouth.

"C-careful, Anna..." Ophilia looks back to the twins, "So, what are your names?"

"I'm Biggs. And my brother here's Wedge," The two seem to be opening up a bit now.

"I'm Ophilia, and this is my sister Lianna. We're both from the nearby town of Flamesgrace."

"The cathedral city..."

"Yes! Erm, if you want, we are returning there later-"

"No thanks ma'am. We're staying on course to Northreach. Its closer from here."

"Oh...well, alright," Ophilia nods, "Might I ask why you're going?"

"Work," The twins reply simply.

"Well, ain't ya jus' a pair o' chatterin' marmots," Richard looks to the clerics, "It's gon' be dark soon. Ye should stay the night."

"Ah, no, we should get back, lest we worry his Excellency..."

"Still with the whole 'Excellency' business, eh?" Richard chuckles.

"...?" Ophilia puts down her cup and bows briefly to Richard and the twins, "Thank you for your hospitality. May the Sacred Flame ever guide your path."

"Right, right, yours as well..."

"Ah, miss Ophilia, before you go..." One of the twins call after them at the door.

"Hm? Yes?"

"Do be careful. When my brother and I were out last night in the snows, we'd heard a very inhuman sound. Twas like a mighty beast in rage. It might still be out there."

"Ah, I see... thank you for telling us..."

"Mayhaps I should escort ye," Richard suggests.

"No, no, you're needed here," Ophilia assures him, "It was probably a frost bear or something, and it'll be asleep by now... We'll be vigilant."

"Yes," Lianna hides her fear.

"...Well alright. But do be careful," Richard makes a slight gesture of prayer as the two girls take their leave. He stands outside and watches them ride off in between the drifts until they ultimately fade from view.

Night comes quickly in the Frostlands, and even natural light is very weak in the day. The two girls light their lanterns and set them on the sides of wagon as it gets dark on their way. Suddenly, Bastion stops again, more abruptly. And, this time, their lanterns illuminate something standing in the snowed-up road.

"Huh?" They both peer at the creature.

It looks like a large cat, with greyish white fur accented with black circular markings and yellow eyes. It looks intently at the wagon. The girls swallow. Was this the beast the twins heard perhaps?

"T-that's not like any beast I've seen here in these parts…"

"I think I've read something about... Snow leopards," Ophilia breathes, "But they are usually further north, by Stillsnow or so..."

The large cat gives a slight growl and paws at the snow. Bastion gives a low snort. As a veteran shag mule, he was a stubborn old creature that did not fear easily.

"Wait…" Ophilia squints, "Is that blood?"

She looks at the snow near the leopard, flecked with something dark. The creature also seems to be limping a bit, tense. It seems a bit more scared than aggressive…

"Get of the way… shoo!" Lianna shouts at the cat.

Ophilia slowly climbs out of her seat and takes the second lantern.

"H-hey, Fili?!" Lianna gasps, "Fili, get back! It's dangerous!"

Bastion gives another steamy snort and paws the snow.

"Peace, Bastion…" Ophilia slowly crunches in the snow, hands on the defensive, as she tries talking soothingly to the big cat, "Um… you're hurt, aren't you…? Is that why…?"

"_Rr…"_ The beast eyes her and suddenly seems a bit sad. It gives a low growl and slowly limps closer. As it does, Ophilia sees its arm is indeed bleeding from something like claw marks. There are also some broken spearheads stuck near its rear legs. On its tail is some small ribbon tied.

"… Poor thing…" She nears the creature, so it is within arms touch. Cautiously, she kneels on the snow and reaches a hand for the injured paw.

"F-Fili, don't…" Lianna can scarcely breathe, grasping tight to the reins. Her eyes fearfully watch as Ophilia tries to reach out for the beast.

When Ophilia's touch nears, she says a small prayer, as the knights of Ardante do often to heal their own. It is the most rudimentary of holy healing, requiring only the conviction of one's words. The cat's eyes go feral for a second and swats her away with a yowl. She falls back on her bum in the deep drift. Bastion rears with a loud whinny as Lianna screams slightly.

"N-no, it's ok!" Ophilia scrambles to stand as the cat shrinks back, "I-I'm sorry, I should have said… We can heal you…"

The cat stares at her silently. Bastion quiets.

"Come on… see?" Ophilia extends her hand again, "We're not going to hurt you."

The cat slowly returns to her touch. This time, it lets her touch its jowl, purring slightly, lowly. Lianna can only watch, dumbstruck, as it licks Ophilia's hand.

"There, there… we must be on our way then…" Ophilia looks to Lianna, "Might we have some room for this little one?"

"Are you daft, Fili? The sister would throw a fit with that beast! Nay, she may even die of a heart attack then and there!"

"But…" Ophilia frowns. All creatures were created by the gods and imbued with the essence of the flame. They all deserve to be treated with respect and dignity.

She feels a tug at her skirts. The big cat is biting on her dress hem and trying to pull her in a direction off in the drifts.

"Ahh! Is it trying to eat you?"

"N-no, Anna, I think it… wants me to see something… What is it, little one?" Ophilia tries to see in vain at what it might be trying to alert her to, "Is another of your own wounded as well?"

The cat drops her dress and nods with a pleading growl. It goes behind her and tries nudging her onward with its head.

"Uhh… I-I'll be only a moment Lianna!" Ophilia lets herself be pushed off the path, to the drift on the side.

"W-what?! Fili!"

"Just keep Bastion and watch the wagon!" Ophilia hollers back as she wades in the deep snow.

Lianna's shouting after her grow distant and soon the cold winds drown it out. It is not long before she feels quite a bit of cold creeping on her. The light from the wagon is gone, leaving her with her solitary lantern. Gripping on her garments around her, she pushes her fears down as they rise. She mustn't think of being led to a den for food…

"Ah!"

Kicking something half buried in the drift, she trips and gets a face full of snow. Luckily, her lantern does not tip and go out.

"Oh Flame…" She gets up, shaking off the snow and looking at what had tripped her.

The flame shows what looks like a maw buried in the snow. Just the snout and mouthful of teeth stick out. The big cat pounces ahead slightly as she tries to absorb what she is looking at. There is also what looks like a spear, a knee… scaly. It's a lizard man. They are notorious creatures that roam the Frostlands, ambushing travelers. Unlike the other beasts like the foxes and marmots, they have a deadly intelligence that many tend to underestimate. Like humans, they can concoct schemes like traps and are tactically adept at surprising unwary parties.

Now looking towards where the cat pounced, Ophilia sees more half-buried remains of these lizard creatures. All dead. There is some blood, but the ice lizards bleed naturally little. Standing, she comes closer to where the cat stands. It seems to be a great mound of white fur, frozen stiff like ice needles.

"A frost bear…" She breathes a cloud of steam out, staring at the dead giant, "Is this what you wanted me to see…"

The cat burrows slightly in the snow next to the bear, where Ophilia notices a slight indent had been dug. Slowly, she sees the cat drag out furs… which are attached to a person.

"Ah…!" Ophilia quickly drops to her knees and assists in excavating the buried person.

It is a young woman. Her clothing is of an odd fashion, consisting of thick animal furs wrapped about like a cape with a hood. There is also a fox pelt belt, hide gauntlets, feather earrings, and wolf skin around her boots. Her body is covered with an animal skin dress, stained with blood. Holding her, Ophilia can feel her body is very muscular and lithe. Her light brown hair is long and messily tied in a rough braid. What skin shows is pale, and possibly turning blue from the exposure to frost. Gripped still, tightly in her hand, is a well-worn bow. Her eyelashes have bits of snow stuck to them, and she seems to be unconscious… or at least, that's what Ophilia hoped.

The cat looks to Ophilia and gives a low growl, like that of worry maybe. Ophilia's gloved hands tremble as she leans forward, trying to ascertain if she was still alive. Her fingers graze that beautiful, frozen face. She keeps an ear near the woman's lips, and a hand on her torso, to feel for breathing. As she does this, a million prayers race through her mind. She hears a low grunt, very weak.

"Sh-She's alive…" Ophilia draws back with a sigh of relief, "But she shall freeze to death at this rate… Mm! Come on now…"

Determination alight in her eyes, she moves to heave the woman so that she leans on her and begins trudging back the way she had come. The cat follows closely.

"She… is your master?"

The cat seems to give a slight nod in affirmation. She had heard of people who kept beasts as partners. They tend to be hunters, or so she recalls.

Ophilia would not buckle despite how difficult it became, carrying this woman and trying to keep her lantern light steady as they stumbled about the drifts. In the distance, she hears the howls of the winds. A storm is brewing and coming fast. Luckily, she can also see the light along the road, from the wagon lantern.

Lianna jumps out of her seat after the initial shock as Ophilia comes into range of the light. She stops short of her sister, seeing her with the woman and the cat.

"What in the name of Aelfric-"

"Anna, they need help… There were lizardmen where I found her… She'll die if we don't take her back with us with a storm coming…!"

Lianna bites her lip before giving an exasperated whine of resignation, "Fiiliii! Ugh..."

She grunts as she goes to take the woman's legs, helping haul her onto the back of the wagon. Ophilia pants a bit before climbing in as well. The large cat nearly knocks her over as it hops on after her. Lianna hurriedly gets back to the driver's seat as the winds begin to howl again, whipping the snows around them up to a blinding mist.

"Bastion, let's go! Yip yip!"

The old mule gives a bellowing grunt before moving along again as Lianna flicks the reins. His heavy body is undeterred by growing ice winds, and his shaggy mane keeps the snow off his eyes.

As the wagon moves along, Ophilia focuses on keeping the woman warm. The large cat curls around them both protectively, and she can feel its warmth. The woman murmurs a bit in her sleep, probably coming to a little.

"...nde..."

Ophilia leans in to hear the stranger's words. They are low and mumbled words of "Linde," "mother," "father," and "master."

"Are... Are you alright...?" Ophilia says gently, pulling about the spare blanket on the woman.

"..."

_She sounds severely weakened... There were definite signs of a fight... did she and the leopard fight all those lizardmen and a bear? Oh, Sacred Flame... _

Ophilia slowly peels back some of the bloody furs sticking to the woman's body. The cat watches her with a low growl.

"I need to check if she's injured..." She says, keeping a wary eye on the beast.

She feels warmth on the side of the woman's stomach. Upon withdrawing her hand, she sees it is slick with blood. She looks down to see some blood leaking onto the wagon floor as well, staining her clothes. Ophilia bites her trembling lip a bit.

"Fili! We're almost there! Is she alright?" Lianna calls to her sister form over her shoulder.

"I don't know!" Ophilia grasps a bit at where she can feel the warm liquid dripping, trying to apply pressure to the wound. A multitude of fervent prayers spill from her lips in rapid succession as she tries to at least staunch the wound. The feel, the touch, and the scent of blood brings back horrid visions. Her hands, stained a red that will never be washed away...

_Your bloodied hands could not save anyone._

The woman coughs suddenly, and Ophilia feels her spasm. A chilled hand lightly grasps at her own.

"...ngh..."

Ophilia barely registered their surroundings change as they entered the town limits. She hadn't felt relief at their return. Her eyes and mind could focus only on this person dying before here, and that horrid sight...

She didn't even taste the blood now running down her chin from biting her lip for so long.

Lianna pulls Bastion to a stop just short of the cathedral gates. She shouts something to Ophilia, which the cleric does not fully register, before running inside. The woman's grasp is not strong, Ophilia can feel, and she's lost too much blood.

When Lianna had fetched Patricia and another priest to help, the bleeding had stopped. But no one questioned it. Miracles do happen, after all. Ophilia seemed a bit disoriented, but they thought it was merely because of the shock. And boy, did Patricia and the church have a shock at the leopard that entered their holy grounds. Though it allowed them to approach the wagon, it would not stop following them when they tried to move the injured party. And they just could not have a beast running about their sick wing.

"Hold it down!" The Knights Ardante bellowed as they tried to corner the beast. It was wily and dexterous, evading their clumsy attempts indoors.

Natalie, the master cleric of the cathedral, clicks her tongue at the shouting when she comes to help them move the woman to an available cot.

"What a ruckus over the poor beast."

The leopard comes bounding at them.

"Ah, Sister Natalie!" The knights shout in alarm.

Ophilia could scarce believe it when the beast seemed to skid to a halt before Natalie, who merely held up a hand. She then lowers it, and the big cat purrs slightly as it rubs its jowl on her hand. As well as being one of the greatest healers Ophilia knew, Natalie had been blinded at a young age from a missionary's trip to the Cliftlands. Her power, though, is undiminished, and her faith only grew, sharpening all her other senses, as well as giving her a few extra. She is one those who can sense souls. Ophilia stares with slight admiration.

"...Come now, this dear will be little trouble. And she is wounded as well."

"Y-yes, as you wish, Sister Natalie..." The knights withdraw.

Lianna and Patricia had gone to return the wagon and Bastion to the stables. Ophilia, Natalie, and the priest manage to transport the woman to an empty cot in the wing. The priest hurries away in presence of the beast that follows.

"Concentrate now, Ophilia," Natalie starts to undress the woman, "Shall I tend to her whilst you get those weapons off poor Linde's rump?"

"Linde?" Ophilia glances at the cat, "Is that your name?"

Linde gives a catty smile in assent.

Ophilia smiles slightly in turn, "Ehehe, ok, I will tend to you, Linde."

As she carefully removes the spearheads lodged in the cat's hind leg, it tries its best not to move, but rips the sheet on which it lays to shreds, giving out yowls that echo through the halls.

"You're doing very well, Linde..." Ophilia chuckles nervously as she puts aside the last of the bloodied points, "Now I'm going to wrap your wounds, ok?"

Linde gives a mewling growl, licking her bloodied, gloved hand. She casts her healing prayers on the wounds, closing up small scrapes and scratches. The wounds that remain open are given a salve, another small prayer, and then bandages. Linde lifts her head once treatment is over and immediately tries to stand.

"Oh no you don't!" Ophilia presses on an uninjured part of its torso to keep it lain down, "You must rest!"

Nonetheless, she looks across the room to where Natalie is treating the woman. The blind cleric has bowls of hot water around the bed to wash down the woman's nearly frozen body. Ophilia can see bloodied bandages lie strewn about the cot.

"I'll be right back ok, Linde? Please rest," She leaves the cat's side to go over to Natalie. Linde remains watchful of her.

"…How is she?" Ophilia makes herself known to the blind cleric, though she knew Natalie needed no such alert.

She sees the woman's torso has been bandaged and her bloodied clothes have been removed. The main wound is on the lower side, just by the ribs on the side. Some red still seems to seep out. Other parts of her half-frozen body are wrapped in warmed bandages. For now, her face seems to be at peaceful sleep at least.

"Alive. I can feel she is very strong, so I do not doubt she will make a full recovery shortly with rest." Natalie draws the covers about her.

"She had been fighting a good many of the lizard men where I had found her. And even a bear… Tis a miracle her wounds were not more severe…" Ophilia lets out a sigh of relief.

"Your healing aided well, Ophilia. It shan't be long before you may reach and surpass my level of prowess," Natalie picks up the soiled and bloody cloths to dispose of.

"That … is high praise, Sister Natalie… I hope to live up to that expectation. But I fear you might be being overly gracious in saying so…" Ophilia gives a small giggle, "I cannot even heal at my best without a focus, nor can I touch minds like you."

"…You are a more proficient healer than you know, child," Natalie taps the blonde cleric's head lightly with the handle of her cane staff.

"Wah… W-well how is her mind, actually? Were you able to see her?"

"The exhaustion made for an unclear conversation. But I assured her she is currently safe," Natalie nods and moves to leave the younger cleric, "You will keep her company?"

"Yes. I believe I ought to, since I found her and all…"

"Very good," Natalie turns and walks to see to some other sick people in the wing.

Ophilia sighs a breath of relief and sits down on the bedside stool. She looks over the woman slowly, taking in everything about her in a more comfortable pace. When she reaches her face, her hand moves to remove a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

_Who are you, I wonder…_

The woman in bed does not respond. Ophilia lightly grazes her bandaged hand. She pulls back immediately out of reflex when she feels an image come upon her. But she did not want to reject her. And so, she gingerly reaches back.

The image comes again. It is clearer than other times she had tried to reach another's soul or mind. She sees a warm scene. A little girl in worn animal skins sits by the fire with a leopard cub as large as she is. She playfully strokes her companion's soft fur and ties a ribbon to its tail. Her lips form one word before Ophilia pulls back.

"_Linde."_

"Ah…" Ophilia feels herself get a bit lightheaded, and her face is warm. It still made her uncomfortable, looking into people's hearts. She hadn't told anyone about it, this odd ability of hers. It was much more of a nuisance compared to Natalie's controlled form which sensed others without seemingly probing them like some voyeur to their inner dreams!

She sees a slight twitch on the woman's face. Had she disturbed her dream? Ophilia bends down near her face and whispers some words of assurance, unsure if they would reach.

"Linde… Linde is alright…"

"…" No response.

Ophilia pulls back and leaves the cot's immediate area, going back to where Linde rested now. The big cat stares at her as she enters, blinking occasionally before letting out a big yawn.

"I suppose you must be famished. We can't exactly serve you hardtack and porridge now can we…" Ophilia puts a pensive hand to her chin.

"Fili?"

Ophilia turns to see Lianna poking her head in from the cot over. She eyes the cat warily.

"Oh, Anna! Is everything else alright?"

"Yes, yes, that was all a trifle compared to… well, whatever this is…" Lianna reluctantly walks over, still eyeing the big beast, "I just spoke to Natalie. The guest will be alright."

"Yes, thank the Flame. I suppose the noises Biggs and Wedge had heard last night… might have been the battle the guest was fighting with the local creatures…"

"Those monsters really are becoming quite a nuisance. Not just one, or two, but three parties of travelers near town now have a run in with them!" Lianna sighs and puts an exasperated hand to her head, "Gods, and I still have the Kindling to worry about… I'll be out there right with them!"

"Oh right…" Ophilia sweats a bit thinking of the dangers that lurked outside the Frostlands awaiting her sister on her pilgrimage.

"Well, I'm about to go see to Father. Do you want to come?"

"Ah, I told Nat-"

"My girls!"

The sisters turn heads and see the archbishop walk towards them. He looked better than he had last week, when he had coughed until pale as a ghost. Some color is on his cheeks, though not ruddy of health.

"Father!" Lianna greets him with a hug, "You shouldn't be about!"

"Your Excellency!"

Josef chuckles and returns Lianna's gesture before going to stroke Ophilia's head tenderly, "I can't be in bed all the time. That is just not what my position warrants…"

"Your Excellency…" Ophilia lets out the tired sigh of a mother, "Even Pontiff Julius has told you to watch your health and take a full sabbatical."

"Oh, has he?"

"Yes!" Lianna pouts up at his smiling face, "And yet here you are still, running about and minding everyone's business in Flamesgrace but yours!"

"Ahaha…" Josef gives a nervous laugh and he looks to Ophilia for recourse. There is none. Ophilia just smiles and shrugs. He sighs in defeat, "I simply could not rest easy knowing you both were yet out in the cold drifts... But I suppose I man being a sentimental fool, eh? You both did just splendid. Soon you two will be out as missionaries of the Flame... and Lianna! You, most of all..."

"Fatheeerrrr...!" Lianna lightly taps his chest playfully, "Flattery won't get you anywhere!"

The three of them chuckle for a small moment. Josef pauses to look at the leopard on the bed, whose eyes have not left them.

"So, that is the new guest you both found..." He looks now towards the woman in the bed across the wing, "I am very proud of you. You have helped save two lives today."

"It was Fili who actually was nutty enough to go and follow the beast."

Ophilia chuckles and scratches her cheek a bit nervously, "Anna kept a more level head than I..."

"Regardless, my girls. You both ought to be proud of your deed," Josef embraces the two of them warmly, "The Flame could not have asked for more."

"Heehee..." They giggle a bit childishly, cheeks slightly blushed, as they hug their father back.

"Now, back to bed, father!" Lianna says, pulling a little from the hug, "I will march you there myself to see that you don't stray off to the pantry or something!"

"Ah, speaking of which... I need to get some food for this little one here..." Ophilia looks at the big cat on the bed, "I'm not sure we even have any meat at the moment..."

She silently wishes she had thought to maybe also have tried carting off the body of that bear back in the wilderness. It is a foolish thought though, given the lack of manpower to hoist such a beast, and the urgent weather incoming at the time. She sighs.

"Do not fret, Ophilia. Perhaps the beast will take kindly to some jerky. That we might have, as opposed to fresh meat," Josef strokes his neatly trimmed stubble, "I know some people who feed their ocelots like so."

Linde gives a slight yawn that resembles a wide grin.

"Mm... thank you, your Excellency," Ophilia nods slightly.

"Now come!" Lianna proceeds to drag the archbishop away, "Your bed awaits!"

"Ahahaha, oh, do watch the arm, Lianna..."

Ophilia smiles a little watching them leave her proximity. She looks to Linde, who gives her a quizzical stare, tilting its head. She reaches cautiously at first to scratch its jowl. When it allows her to do so, she eases into the action and smiles softly. Linde deeply purrs, tail flicking about in lazy contentment.

"I don't think you're able to adapt to an omnivorous diet... And I don't know how you'd take to catching mice for us here in the church?" She asks in jest. The beast's tail lightly swats at her face in response and she chuckles.

"Well, I suppose I ought to go and find you something to nibble on before I start to look appetizing," Ophilia teases as she pulls away from the cat now, "Sit tight, ok, Linde?"

Linde lays her head down on the bed and her eyes now shift to watch her owner across from her.

Out in the hall, Ophilia makes her way through the main cathedral body to the abutting buildings where the dormitories, private prayer rooms, libraries, and pantry are. As she passes through the courtyard arcades, she sees two shapes walking about in the snowy backdrop. One is pope Julius. The other is an old friend.

"Oh, Mattias!" She calls out and waves. When they turn and look, she is already running up to them. She performs the usual salute with a slight bow to the pope, "Your holiness. May the Sacred Flame ever guide your path."

The sandy haired man chuckles, "Oh Ophilia, ever the prim and proper one."

"Why, Ophilia, how nice it is to see you hard at work," Julius smiles, crinkling the wrinkly skin around his eyes, "Mattias and I were just talking about you."

"Eh, really?" Ophilia curls a stray hair behind her ear to try not to blush full on, "W-well I do hope it isn't gossip of the ill sort..."

"Just how much I've missed you," Mattias chuckles, "I'll be staying around a little more in town so I'll be able to see Anna off on the Kindling in a few."

"Oh, that's wonderful! You rarely stay long enough!"

"Well, what can I say? The Leo Consortium can be a bit of a slave driver when it comes down to it. Not enough worker bees," Mattias shrugs, "But enough about me, how have you been?"

"Just well. We've just arrived back from a trip to Richard's..."

"Really? There was a storm kicking up out there just now, you know! And I just arrived with the cart as well!" Mattias folds his arms, "You lucked out!"

"Ahaha, I suppose..."

"Well, I shall leave you two to catch up then..." Julius nods slightly and glances at Mattias as he goes to leave them, "You know where to find me."

"Indeed. Me and Fili have a bit to catch up with," Mattias smiles.

Ophilia is secretly on cloud nine as the pontiff walks away. Mattias pats her head a little.

"Anything exciting happen? News about when you might want to go on a pilgrimage or...?"

"Oh, as if..." Ophilia flutters her lips a little, "Once Anna's off on the Kindling, I need to keep a close eye on Father Josef! He's not as young as he used to be, you know!"

"Hehe, you're such a dutiful daughter," Mattias pokes her playfully between the eyes, "But haven't you been wanting to traverse the realm for a while? You always love my stories after all."

"...Stories have their place and time. And my place is here," She looks to the side a little, "I'm happy after all. There's nothing to complain about."

"Except that you would rather go out and walk with me, no?" Mattias says in half jest.

"Mattias you … you wily… snow fox!" Ophilia reddens at her own weak insult. But her mouth was as clean as the fresh white snow drifts unfortunately. Mattias howls with laughter at her attempt.

"Maybe next time then, hm?" He gives her a small wink. He'd asked her multiple times now if she wanted to travel with him. She'd always refused.

She sighs, "You know I can't leave my responsibilities as I please…"

He seems a bit sad when she says that, "Hells, Ophilia… You need to think about yourself a little more! If you're tired of the stale bread, I'll bring you some meat!"

"Meat!" Ophilia's eyebrows shoot up in realization. She was supposed to be feeding Linde! "Mattias, I-I'll talk to you later!"

Mattias waves, just the slightest bit confused as the cleric runs off to the pantry.

Ophilia arrives around the hall, about to turn a corner to where the mess hall is. She hears the low voice of two sisters coming by and she stops to let them pass.

"…Too worried really… about Josef…"

"Mhm… Anna's not really fit to go…"

Ophilia clenches her skirts but greets the sisters as they pass. Once they are gone, she continues onto the pantry, though there is now a troubled expression on her face. Doubtless those two were talking about Lianna's willingness to leave Flamesgrace with Father Josef ill. Ophilia had these thoughts as well, and she admired Lianna for the courage she displayed in choosing to conduct the pilgrimage regardless. It's painful to be away from those you love for any extended amount of time really.

She enters the empty mess hall. It is not time yet to eat. But the sound and smell of cooking is apparent and Ophilia licks her lips. Stew! It's nice to have some hearty meat for once. To save money usually, they buy cheaper cuts of meat, which require long periods of cooking. But even that is rare, so Ophilia is grateful to be having meat at all.

She pokes her head into the kitchen. Some nuns are working before a large pot, cutting in vegetables and herbs. There is also the fainter scent of baking bread. Ophilia's mouth waters a little.

"Ophilia!" Sister Prudence spots her peeking, "Hungry already, are we?"

"N-no!" Ophilia looks towards the adjoined pantry door, "I came to find some meat scraps…"

"Whatever for?"

"Well, we found a huntress in the snows and she had a large cat with her…" Ophilia says a little sheepishly.

"Good gods, Ophilia! There's a bloody beast in the convent?" Some of the other cooks balk.

"It's completely harmless to us, I assure you!" Ophilia walks into the pantry and begins looking for jerky, "It took down more lizards and a bear outside town. Hasn't harmed a person as far as I can tell."

"O' Flame of Aelfric, what is our world coming to these days…" Prudence sighs, stirring, "You know just now, I went and bought this meat from the butcher in town? A couple of ne'er-do-well travelers from the Woodlands of all places were squatting around the streets, drunk! The nerve of people without decency!"

"Oh, those blokes? Yes, I heard they were making some big stink over at Orr's!"

Orr was the owner of the local tavern in Flamesgrace. He was a gentle giant sort of man. Despite drinking being a perceived vice, he was on friendly terms with the local parish, and Ophilia preferred him over the more dastardly types of men in the world.

"They were shouting like big nobles about the House of Ciaran or something…"

"Ciaran? Why that's an old name from the Azelhart days, isn't it?"

"Yes, they escaped the great Purge that took down the other ones like Gerster and Hulhorst… But if they have dolts like that running about now, mayhap their end is not far either!"

The nuns have a nice laugh over that. Ophilia finds some shreds of bear meat, dried and darkened. She leaves the nuns to their cooking and hurries to return to the sick ward. Just before she steps out though, she hears a curious bit of gossip.

"…claiming they killed a frost bear just last night…!"

"Oh, you found what you needed, Ophilia dear?"

Ophilia nods hastily and takes her leave. Another frost bear? Was it a coincidence then, that she had just seen the carcass of one of those beasts? Or were there two unrelated incidents?

Once back at the sick ward, she finds, to her relief, that Linde had not gone wandering off due to hunger. The large cat purrs a little when she returns, and its eyes positively light up when she shows it the meat. She puts it before the cat and gently strokes its fur as it eats. It consumes the jerky in a surprisingly polite manner, not at all what one might expect from an animal. When finished, the big cat licks its paws and rolls to show Ophilia its snow-white stomach.

"Oh, comfortable now, are you?" Ophilia chuckles and rubs the furry belly a little, "Well at least you are… I hope your master wakes up soon…"

The cat arches and licks her face a little in response. She chuckles and scratches the jowl, eliciting a purr. Then realization strikes and she pulls back to leave.

"Ah, I haven't restocked the lavatories… Sorry, Linde! I'll see you again later!"

She gathers her skirts and runs out. It would not do to have Patricia yell at her over a trifle!


End file.
